I Was Born With a Resting Bitch Face – Chapter 2 – Under The Control

I was born and raised in a city by the sea.

Over a million people lived there. In summer, it felt like another million came to visit.

Our summer started in May. Once, I even went swimming at the end of October.

Beaches, tourists, nightclubs, crowds.

And my resting bitch face.

Which, as it turns out, was very practical.

We had nightclubs right on the beach. People came from different cities and countries just for the weekend.

You could start your night at 10:45 p.m.

Why 10:45?

Because entrance for females was free before eleven.

Obviously.

Dance all night, finish the next day by the pool at the same nightclub. Preferably under an umbrella, with the same kind of cocktail somebody ordered for you last night.

No kids allowed.

Nobody expected you to smile for a cocktail.

You could. You could also have no idea who bought it.

No expectations. Somebody might get lucky. Somebody might not.

And after a night like that?

Sleep? Yes.

Smile? Absolutely not.

Not a party animal?

Fine. Take a book and go to the beach.

Still crowded.

Somebody’s kid is digging a hole next to your towel for the third time in fifteen minutes.

Sand in your face.

Do you smile?

No.

Do you scream at somebody else’s child?

Also no.

I’d call that excellent behaviour.

My face might disagree.

Now let’s go downtown.

Tourists everywhere. Music, traffic, noise. Some are looking for restaurants. Some are already drunk.

You don’t want to become part of anybody’s plans.

So you walk.

No eye contact. No unnecessary smiling.

Then there’s somebody looking for directions.

You’ve just worked five days, ten to seven.

You’re hungover from last night.

There’s still sand in your hair from your morning beach session.

You have one day off.

ONE.

And you’ve managed not to kill anybody.

You are not a tour guide.

So you hope they’ll ask somebody else.

Preferably somebody smiling.

That’s what my face was good for.

I could be happy, relaxed, having the best day of my life, and still look like I wanted everyone to leave me alone.

Because sometimes I did.

And sometimes I was just thinking about what to eat.

I wasn’t trying to look intimidating.

I wasn’t even trying to look unfriendly.

I just didn’t see why my face needed to invite conversations I hadn’t agreed to.

My resting bitch face wasn’t a problem.

It was crowd control.

And in that city, trust me, I needed it.