That Guy

I’m going to take a moment to talk about That Guy. Which guy is that you nonspecific bastard? You know...That Guy. Illustrative storytime. Illustrative stories are true. In this one the names have been changes to protect the innocent. And also the not innocent. And.....That Guy. There are about 12 mud-covered people in a fifteen passenger van riding south somewhere in Georgia on I-75. I am engaged in conversation with two of them. Since it’s a conversation that includes me and given the timing I need hardly mention what we are talking about. Dinner. We are discussing the relative merits of many common restaurant chains. Jack’s main claim was that all of these chains were perfectly fine as long as you ordered the right thing (i.e. don’t order the three dollar steak at waffle house...order the fucking waffles). He said “there is always some guy who goes into a restaurant and order the exact wrong thing” Only moments after Jill and I agreed the van pulled into a Steak and Shake. A dozen hungry college cavers piled out of the van and into the franchised diner. Minutes later the three of us were at a table receiving food. I had a steak sandwich (like a burger, but different) and fries, Jack had the same (i think) but with less fries, Jill had spaghetti. Jack took one look at her plate and said “Holy Shit. You are That Guy.”

As you can see from the illustrative story That Guy is not a gender specific term. Moreover there is a whole other meaning that I will not get into yet.