“Oh Yeah?”: Dewd Quiz

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life of glitz and glamour, it’s that dewdz have tremendously high standards to determine if you’re worthy of their respect.  Wait, I forgot to clarify.  To determine if they deem women worthy of their respect.  As far as other dewdz are concerned, a handshake and a “Sup, bro” pretty much punches that ticket. Dewdz love each other so much, unless they see a dewd actively dry-humping their mom, they will attest under oath that he’s a “good guy”.  There is so much instant warmth between two dewdz who have just met, I’m surprised their balls don’t erupt in flames.

Many, many, many times in my life, going back to my teenage years and as recently as last week, I’ll look around whatever room I’m in and realize that I’m the only woman in the room.  It’s probably because fifty percent of my life has been spent in band rehearsal spaces in warehouses and fifty percent has been spent in shitty dive bars.  These scenarios are breeding grounds for my least favorite game.

The worst fucking game.

The game I have named “Dewd Quiz”.

Let’s learn more about it!

Dewd Quiz is a game that dewdz like to play with women who they fear are trying to sneak into their Dewd Club, because chicks, obviously, are not cool enough to hang with them, and must be rooted out and shamed as quickly as possible. I guess because they’d rather only hang out with dewdz? Even though they’re attracted to women? I don’t get it.  Try applying logic to most things dewdz do and you’ll find it’s like trying to put pants on an octopus.

Related, these guys are never actually cool, and should thank the fucking stars that any woman would ever even want to be in the same room as them, even if it’s a lowly woman who doesn’t know how many cc’s the engine is on the motorcycle parked out front.  Oh, the shame.  The horror.

Dewd Quiz is designed to make you prove yourself to a dewd who apparently thinks so highly of himself that if you can prove you know as much as he does about trivial shit that doesn’t really fucking matter, only then you are worthy of his respect.  (You’ve gotta be some kind of special egomaniac if those are your standards for respecting someone, by the way.  I’m surprised these dewdz don’t glow like goddamned plutonium rods, they’re such nuclear dickwads.)

The first time I ever unknowingly played Dewd Quiz was in the eighth grade.  I was a huge fan of Skid Row, and was wearing my favorite Skid Row t-shirt at the skating rink.  I knew every Skid Row song by heart (still do!), everything about the band, and was a superfan.  I spent more time on Skid Row than I did on homework.

A dewd I had never met in my life skated up to me, gave me a stink-face, and said, “Name one Skid Row song that’s not “I Remember You”.  Then he folded his arms across his chest and stood there and waited.  You should have seen this smug 14 year old prick’s face.  I swear, if I could go back in time and beat him with my skate until his face looked like a waffle, I would.

He assumed that since I was a girl, I only knew the power ballad that was on regular radio rotation, and would therefore have no right to wear the t-shirt. And Skid Row is not even really a dewdz-dewd band. I can only imagine if I liked Testament or Helloween.

So, here’s the crux of the game.  Dewdz get very angry when they think you, as a woman, are representing yourself as a fan of something “dewdish” unless you know every teeny, tiny minutiae of detail about it.  For example:

If you don’t know what the B-side was on a 7-inch record put out by a metal band before they got signed to a major label thirty years ago, you are not permitted to claim that you are a fan of this band, because you are a poseur.

If you claim to like football but don’t know Jerry Rice’s rushing record, even though you’re not a 49ers fan, you are a poseur.

If you claim to like horror films, but don’t know who the director was of some Japanese horror film from 1975 that was only released as an import in Taiwan on 8mm film, you are a poseur.

If you fail to answer any of their questions accurately, they will deem you a poseur and unworthy of their respect.  It is the dumbest game ever.

I suspect Dewd Quiz is the reason there aren’t more women in baseball broadcasting, because if you don’t know who scored a run on an error in the 13th inning to win the 128th game of the 1956 season between the Mets and the Dodgers, you might as well not even know what a baseball looks like as far as dewdz are concerned.  My god, the stats in that game.

It’s especially bad now that I’m no longer in a band, because when any dewd finds out that I used to be in a band, the Dewd Quiz machine gets kickstarted like a dirt bike and they practically come out of their skin to start their inquisition.  “Oh yeah?  Well what kind of microphone did you use?”  “Oh yeah, well who wrote the songs?”  “Oh yeah?  Well did you even play an instrument?”  “Oh yeah, do you know the difference between major and minor chords?”

😐 <——- (This is my face right now.)

A couple months ago I was out at my favorite dive bar with Bobby on a Sunday afternoon, I was the only woman there, and I was wearing my favorite Jefferson Airplane t-shirt, that says “Jefferson” across the very top, near the collar band, and “Airplane” at the bottom, closer to my waist.  A guy who was sitting by himself about thirty feet away from us yelled across the bar, “Hey, what does the bottom of your shirt say?”

Now, were I a younger woman, I would have thought this was merely an innocent question, but given my old wiseness and stuff, I recognized this immediately as the beginning of a scorching round of Dewd Quiz, and I determined that I was in no mood to engage and was going to shut it down.  I smirked and said, “Don’t worry, it doesn’t say “Starship.”

Didn’t work.

Then he wanted to know old the shirt was, I assume, because if my t-shirt weren’t from 1968, you know, well before I was born, he was going to call my t-shirt a poseur.  I said, “It’s not old, got it on eBay.  I’d be drinking at a much less shitty bar right now if I could afford an original.”  He laughed.  (Pro-tip – making a dewd laugh is a decent shortcut through Dewd Quiz because dewdz don’t think women are capable of being funny.) Also, I left out the part where I mentally said, “So shut up”, because unlike dewdz, I didn’t want to end up in a barfight over a t-shirt.

Speaking of fighting, when I first joined the MMA-style dojo I was going to a couple years ago, I readily admitted to everyone that I had no idea what I was doing and that they were going to have to teach me everything from the ground up.  When I had learned enough fighting skill that I could talk about it and not sound like a total idiot, I was amazed at how many dewdz just couldn’t stand it.  It infuriated them.  I went to try a freebie class at another dojo, and when the guy at the counter asked me if I had any experience, I told him what I knew, and he said, “Oh yeah?  Where do you train?”

I answered him, “With Mike over at Prag.” He looked irritated that I actually had an answer.

Then he said, “Oh yeah, well which discipline?”

I answered, “Full mix. Western boxing, muay thai, kali, grappling, krav maga.”

“Oh yeah?  Well what brand of gloves do you wear?”

Le sigh.

These are the three questions every. single. dewd. will ask you if you ever tell them that you’ve fight-trained, because they desperately, desperately want to try to “catch you”, for what reasons I don’t know.  You can set your watch by that shit.  Same questions, same order. Next dojo I guested at, same drill.

Basketball?  Oh, that’s a fun one.  I am a huge basketball fan.  (LET’S GO HEAT!)  Dewdz will not accept this until I have presented them with a 500 page doctoral thesis on the subject that is graded for both content and margins, and even that won’t necessarily get the job done.  I could walk in wearing a Udonis Haslem jersey, carrying Udonis Haslem on my shoulders, he could say, “Hi, I’m Udonis Haslem, and Maggie here is a Heat fan”, and dewdz would still come at me with, “Oh yeah?  Well what’s Hassan Whiteside’s mother’s middle name?  Don’t know?  POSEUR.”

It’s a no-win situation. They make fun of you for liking girly things, but they’re pissed if you like dewd things.  Lord knows they won’t respect you if you don’t know as much about a dewd subject as they do (even though it still seems to threaten them), but if you know more than them?  Holy shit.  You’ve just committed the high crime of emasculation. I would rather start an underfunded land war in Asia than go up against a dewd who thinks I’ve emasculated him. That’s how you get your head blown off in a bar parking lot over who had the most rebounds in a first round playoff series in the NBA Eastern Conference because, as I often preach, and am trying to spread throughout the land so please help me out if you can, dewdz are sensitive and emotional as shit.

I’ll tell you what’s the most fun, though. Watching a dewd fail the very Dewd Quiz he is hosting. Last year I was eavesdropping on a Dewd Quiz that was happening nearby, while the Marilyn Manson cover of Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus” was playing on the jukebox. Dewd Quizzer says to woman playing pool nearby, “I bet you don’t know who did this song originally.”

She didn’t. He then, smug as fuck, smiled and said, “Oasis.”

I took a lot of petty pride just quietly knowing how wrong he was, even though I wasn’t involved in the conversation, because you have to savor all victories over Dewd Quiz, no matter how small.

Oasis. Seriously?

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