Their Perfect Fallacies

Prologue

   I'm starting to get angry.
   It's been half an hour and this guys been running his mouth nonstop. My ponytail is starting to painfully sag, taking my patience down with it, sinking with every passing syllable coming out of this guy's mouth, sounding like absolute gibberish. I already rejected his offer twice, why must he persist?
   Has he no pride?
   "So, as I've been hinting at for the past 48 minutes", the guy says (yet again, it speaks) after consulting his wrist watch and giving me a look that clearly spelled 'I don't want you at the institute either', and 'I'm sick of seeing those two ugly moles on the side of your face'(it's cause I keep rolling my eyes and looking longingly at the pizzeria to my side). "The higher-ups think it best that you join our institute; since you'll enjoy the many privileges I've been listing while you've been huffing and puffing -- honestly would it kill you to pay a shred of attention? You're being mad rude right now."
   My left eye twitches and my boils in my veins as I swivel my head over to face his a noxious self. "As my answer always was, I reject your offer. Get it now? It's the third time you've 'asked' me to join your shady get-together of mentally challenged persons; I. Am. Not. Joining! If you attempt to pursue me a fourth time I'll have to file a restraining order." I fold my arms and await his reaction-to-come at my threats.
   His hand goes up and scratches his ear, hinting that this is not something he wanted to hear. I narrow my eyes and put my defenses up even further as he visibly puts all professionalism aside and leans over the table, looking distressed much to my surprise.
   "I know how you feel about this, you've made that quite clear, but you must understand that someone with your...'abnormality'... Uh shouldn't linger around prosaics --- normal beings, I mean. I'm not seeing that you're a freak or- or a danger to society or something of the sort! No! God forbid!", he hastily added that last part after noting my seething expression.
   I was ready to gather all my belongings and leave when he suddenly leapt forward, almost as if to make a grab for my hand, but stopped just short, and said in a low voice, glancing left and right as if afraid to be over heard, "listen up, you 16-year-old snobbish know-it-all, the boss doesn't give fourth chances; it's three strikes and you're out, literally. Do you seriously think you're making the right decision?"
   I recoil, slowly getting out of my seat, putting some distance between me and the guy who had gotten much too close for comfort. I zip my jacket up and tighten my ponytail, anger subsiding long enough to leave room for caution and suspicion to slide in.
   "What do you mean? Is that supposed to be a threat? What amount of power does your boss have exactly, that permits him to cash out threats so casually?"
   He glanced around and, clearing his throat and straightens his sagging navy tie, said in an all-too professional, almost cautious, tone:
   "Just tell me you'll reconsider.", and finished off with adding a silent 'please', as if saying the word out loud would rouse the bogey man from his slumber.
   Which, I felt, wasn't much far from the truth.