There is something BLATANTLY wrong with me that NO goddam person will tell me what it is. Every person just wants to be fucking nice and say nice things to me. Flattery. Oh yeah, I am sure you can get a date anytime. You look good, etc. Pussies.
That line from the diary of Pennsylvania gym shooter George Sodini, written before he killed three women and himself, almost makes me feel bad for him. Almost. Because in among all the misogynistic and racist ranting that makes up the bulk of the diary, he actually showed a flash of insight: There was something blatantly wrong with him, and people who told him how nice and attractive he was probably were blowing sunshine up his ass....
Guys, you are not being rejected because you are too nice. Niceness is a positive characteristic. I doubt any straight woman—even the kind with a stated preference for "bad boys"—has ever said to herself, "Hmm, I'd be really into this guy if he weren't so compassionate, thoughtful, and respectful. If he'd just dick me around and insult me a little more, I'd want to rip his clothes off." If you get rejected by every woman you approach, the problem could be a million different things, but I guarantee it's not that you're just too kind for your own good. We tell you you're "nice" because we don't want to be rude, we don't want to risk your aggression, and most of all, we want you to leave us alone.
George Sodini knew he wasn't really a nice guy. He knew there was something "blatantly wrong" with him. He wished someone would tell him what it was. But who's going to say, "You seem to have a really deep hatred of women, and some serious rage issues, and a ludicrously overblown sense of entitlement, and I'm guessing you'd need about a hundred years of therapy before you'll be ready for a healthy relationship"? Certainly not any woman he approached at a bar, who only wanted him to go away as quickly as possible and without incident. Nor friends who, by all accounts, kept pulling away until he had none anymore. Probably not his family, whom he professed to despise. So that left R. Don Steele, whose best advice was, "Nice Guy Must Die."
Well, this one did, along with three innocent women.