Hey, Man. She Is Indifferent To You Because You Are Pathetic.
The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. - Elie Wiesel
Hates you would be too kindly to apply to you because that implies feelings. You are undeserving of feelings being applied to you. That woman you just met via OK Cupid, Match, or Plenty of STDs was polite enough to bow out of the date early gracefully, not because she cares about you but because she was raised to be polite.
She is polite to you in the same way she is polite to the UPS man who stops by every day at work--the exception being that she imagines the UPS man's brown, muscular, and sinewy legs bookending either side of her head as she pleasures him.
So, this: you at the Starbucks. She is American, of Asian ancestry, common in L.A., San Francisco, or Vancouver, BC, but here in This City it ratchets up her sexual market value another 6 points. She nods at everything you say. Dark skinned, raven-haired, she has a thin layer of chub, but nothing that cannot be stripped off with 3 months of moderate exercise and just saying "No" to Ben and his friend Jerry at the grocery store.
You: incapable of stopping talking. Just. Stop. Talking. But you persist. Your Superman hat has some ironic cultural reference beyond it being merely a Superman hat. But who can be bothered to care? You are unshaven, but you fail to realize that precisely 6 men in this world look good unshaven and you are not one.
From your angle, you cannot see this, but the foot of her crossed leg is rapidly tapping air, saying in Morse Code: Get me out of here.
Your bitch tits flap. Your bitch tits go flippety-flap! flippety-flap! with every gesture your arm makes. But you must gesture, because every gesture amplifies your statements as you pontificate on technology, cars, soccer, technology, beer, Congress, the E.U., the wave of illegal immigrants coming across the U.S./Mexico border, and technology. After all, you're on fire.
On fire because, why? You worked magic. Magic, I tell you. And in this sole respect, I bow down as being completely unworthy even to lick the black hairs on your big toe. Because...?
Through some David Copperfield-level feat of legerdemain, you presented an amazing enough dating profile to convince this slice of sex-on-a-stick to go out on a date with you. And for this, I applaud you.
Yet now, when you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, she sighs. Her foot stops tapping. She picks up her Me Machine, but even texting "OMG what a date with this loser get me out of here" to her best friend is not worth the effort. Because: feelings.
No feelings, nothing. Vacuity only. Instead, she checks the time and contemplates just walking out. But Mama taught her manners. So, she rehearses in her head, "Yeah, so. Anyway, I need to go, nice meeting you," as well as defensive measures for your inevitable stone-deaf come-back.