"No girls don't like that sorta stuff." I quickly argued while walking along the canal on a hot Arizona day. The canal was dried up and homes bordered the dusty walkway. Sam was the average kind of guy, though with a towering physique topped with soft blonde hair and covered with fair skin. The sun shown directly above us. I carried all my books in backpack, while Sam held a few notebooks and a stainless steel water bottle, which glistened as the sun's beam reflected onto it. He claimed backpacks could fundamentally ruin your public image. I don't see how that's possible. We neared the street, waiting for the cars to go by. "Then what do they like?" He responded. "I dunno, I guess just treat them the same" I suggested. "As compared to what? Guys? Yeah right. Look I get nervous around girls, when I'm nervous, I'm cautious." Sam's main problem, not just with girls, per se, was that he didn't accurately represent himself towards others. On a rare occasion, one may see a brief glimpse of his true creed. When the cars stopped, we crossed the street, continuing the canal's route. "Cautious? You shouldn't be cautious, just a bit more aware, actually you should always be aware," I insisted. Sam didn't enjoy getting a lecture on behavior everyday, it seemed to commonplace in our conversations. I was getting tired of it, and so was he. Sam hastily came up with a refute, "Aware? If you're aware, than you can't be who you are. And that goes against everything you said." Damnit. Not today, he wouldn't change; he had a valid point, but didn't seem to fully grasp the core concept. Was there a core concept? I didn't plan these, they seemed to pop up. I was soon lost in the labyrinth that had become our argument. The canal started to end into and split into two underground tunnels. Slowly, the arid, sandy pathway became a radiant green grass. I finally let it out on Sam. "Look, here's my final pitch, when you play basketball or hockey or any other sport, there's two situations, you with the ball or without it. If you don't have it, what do you do? You don't stand around. You make an opportunity. When the ball's in your hands, it's a chance to show what you worked for off the ball. Get it?" Sam looked a confused and took a few steps back. The grass got greener as we approached a water fountain inside the golf course. "Someone's always watching, listening, looking." Sam furthered himself and replied, "At me?" I was furious, a brick wall had been erected in his mind and it was impossible to penetrate. "Don't flatter yourself." I didn't enjoy using clichs to make a point, but desperate times called for desperate measures, "Character is what you do when no one is looking." Sam came closer, thinking it may help clear up any obscurities. "I thought you said someone is always looking." I smacked my forehead in frustration. The fountain came closer and Sam needed to fill his metallic water bottle. Despite my call for a last attack, I mustered up something. "Okay here it goes. If you don't get it here, I give up, Just do two things: be consistent and pretend someone critical is watching your every move. Now you've gotta choice, do it, or don't do it." Sam jerked towards me from the fountain. He knew I was right. He didn't want to believe it. I kept true to my word and never spoke of it again. We kept walking and soon the lush grass turned back into the brown sandy pathway from which we came from.