“Netflix and Chill.” The experience is usually pretty standard: go to his place, turn on a movie, don’t watch that movie, leave to go tell your friends about it over a bottle of cheap wine. That was, until IT happened. 

My name is Reid Phillips. I survived “Netflix and Chill” with a Film major, and this is my story. 

It started off normally, with a lazy Tinder message like “u up sexy?” at 10:30pm on Thursday night. I put on my one real bra, brushed my hair, and headed on my way. 

When I got to his place, something was immediately off. Most guys have a sink full of dishes,  and an inexplicable dent in the wall. He had posters of Alfred Hitchcock movies, and not a misplaced plate in sight. 

He had already been watching Pulp Fiction, and said that I could watch too, even though “it would probably go over my head.” As the movie played, his eyes were glued to the screen. At one point, I even looked over and he was mouthing along to Samuel L. Jackson. 

After I realized he wasn’t going to be making the first move, I attempted. But, my advance was rebuked. He asked why I was trying to distract him, and proceeded to mansplain the ending. 

About 45 minutes in when John Travolta was stabbing Uma Thurman, I decided I should at least leave with my dignity. I loudly got up and left, his eyes never leaving the screen. 

Though I was fortunate enough to survive this encounter, I know there are many girls who aren’t as lucky – girls who have to watch the entirety of a Scorsese film, and don’t even get a hoodie out of it. 

I can only hope that my story inspires other girls to move past these pretentious monsters, and onto toxic frat boys, for the sake of womankind. 

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