The Energy Thieves & The Void (Real-Life Encounter with Caribbean Contradiction)

Based on a true story.

Scene: Whole Foods. A table near the seating area. I sit down to get some work done. Enter—Daniel, a man wearing glasses and a mask, his energy already signaling something off.)

Daniel: ("Did she just say something?")
“What did you say?”

Me:
“What did you say?”

Daniel:
“No—what did you say?”

(I knew he thought I said something I didn’t. So I decided to joke with him—giving him a moment to either drop it or take the bait. He took the bait.)

Daniel:
“Wait, what did you say?”

(One more round of this back and forth. I let it play out before I finally cut it off. He removes his glasses and mask, and immediately, I see him more clearly. My system already knows. This isn’t someone worth engaging. But I allow my judgment to take a side for a second out of boredom. Mistake #1.)

(The conversation shifts, and Daniel realizes I’m not an average person.)

Daniel:
“You’re intelligent.”

(He doesn’t say it casually. He says it like it’s inconvenient to admit.)

Me:
(Handing him my business card) “Here.”

Daniel:
“Why are you giving me your business card?”

Me:
“That’s the point of a business card.”

Daniel:
“Yes, but a business card can be accepted or rejected.”

Me:
“Then that’s your answer.” (I move to take it back.)

Daniel:
“Okay, I’ll take it.”

(He skims it, but I already know—he’s not processing the value. He’s looking for a way to maintain control. He started off by making fun of my name by not caring how he pronounces it.)

Daniel:
“So what do you do?”

Me:
“I bring clarity to everything. I can give you solutions and advice for every area of your life.”

(He freezes slightly. His belief system tells him that wisdom comes with age. But now, he’s faced with someone far younger who knows more than him—which he just admitted earlier. Instead of accepting it, he tries to grasp for control.)

Daniel: (Smirking like he’s about to “teach” me something)
“Well, let me give you some clarity.”

(Here we go.)

Daniel:
“You’re a vegan, aren’t you?”

Me: (Amused, but already knowing exactly where this is going.)
“No.”

Daniel: (Confused)
“Oh. But I bet you’re one of those people who sits all day writing.”

Me:
“No.”

Daniel: (His brain is short-circuiting. His assumptions aren’t landing.)
“Well, based on how you look, I assumed—”

Me: (Cutting in)
“You assumed incorrectly. And the only reason you’re doing this is to distract from the fact that what you’re witnessing goes against everything you believe.”

(His demeanor shifts. He starts over-explaining. His voice rises slightly, and his words come faster—trying to compensate. He’s spiraling, but he won’t admit it.)

Me: (Watching him trip over himself)
“Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”

(He denies it, of course. But he keeps talking—filling the space, trying to regain his sense of control.)

(A second man sits down. His energy is heavier, darker—immediately signaling trouble. I recognize it instantly, but I allow the conversation to flow. Mistake #2.)

Me: (Noticing his body language—shoulders tense, face slightly turned downward.)
“What’s frustrating you?”

Man #2: (Harshly)
“Nothing.”

(I already know the type. The ones who call their lack of decorum "honesty" when it’s just rudeness disguised as being "straightforward.")

(The conversation circles back. I mention how most people are miserable. And suddenly, both men see their chance. Their moment to pounce—to validate themselves by twisting my words.)

Daniel & Man #2 (In sync, excitedly):
“So you’re saying everybody’s miserable?”

Me: (Seeing exactly what they’re doing.)
“Yes.”

Daniel & Man #2: (Grinning, thinking they’ve caught something.)
“So that includes you?”

(This is the grown man’s version of ‘Gotcha!’ Except, just like the kid version, it only works when you don’t know what you’re doing.)

Me: (Looking at them blankly.)
“No.”

(Silence.)

(They weren’t expecting that. They were expecting me to stumble—to have to explain myself, to justify. But I don’t entertain nonsense.)

Daniel & Man #2: (Scrambling, trying to recover.)
“But if you said everybody—”

Me: (Cutting them off, ending their pathetic little moment.)
“Sure.” (I give them a neutral expression and let it sit.)

(They try to laugh at each other, pretending to be amused. But there’s nervousness in it. They felt the shift. The game didn’t work. I see everything.)

(I point at Man #2.)

Me:
“Just like him.”

(That was the trigger. He snaps.)

Man #2: (Angry, raising his voice.)
“You don’t know me!”

(But that’s the thing. I do. The reaction itself is the proof. He spirals—getting louder, saying all the things that confirm exactly what I just stated.)

Daniel (Trying to regain his position):
“You see, now you’ve gotten yourself into trouble.”

Me: (Unbothered.)
“No. I expected that from him.”

(Enter—Man #3. He picks up a drink from Man #2’s table, jokingly taking a sip.)

Man #2: (Demanding, aggressive.)
“Put it right here.” (He gestures to the exact spot.)

(Man #3 refuses. They start bickering. Then, Man #3 says something that seals everything.)

Man #3: (Smirking, laughing.)
“Who do you think you’re talking to—your wife?”

(And there it is. The exact mentality I always see from them and everything I saw from the beginning of the conversation but chose to ignore out of boredom. The casual degradation of women (not to mention all the degrading and racist understatements during the entire conversation)—woven into their conversations, their jokes, their entire framework of existence.)

(I snap my laptop shut—hard. Not aggressively, just definitively. The moment shifts. They feel it. They know something just changed.)

Man #3: (Surprised, thrown off.)
“You’re leaving?”

Me: (Calm, steady.)
“No. I’m moving tables.”

Man #3: (Confused, pressing.)
“Why?”

Me: (Without even looking at them.)
“Because I don’t have time for nonsense.”

(I push in my chair. I walk away. The air drops. They feel it. Because that’s what happens when I exit a space. A void is left.)

These types of people feed off energy. They were leeching from me—desperate to validate themselves, to grasp onto something solid. They sat there, still talking. But it wasn’t the same. The moment I left, their words lost weight—because they had no one left to steal from.