Consider this analogy. While you scratch your head about how it is that people follow the reprehensible snake oil salesmen rather than your laudable facts (a.k.a. laudable-you), mightn’t it occur to you that, from their point of view, you’re the snake oil salesman?  And if so, and the person on whose door you’re knocking has displayed a No Solicitors sign, you shouldn’t be surprised that she puts the dogs on you when you persist. Or that if the dogs don’t deter you, she pulls out a gun. Or that if the gun doesn’t scare you, the clan comes to her defense. Now you probably won’t make any sales in that town. Keeping with the sales analogy, you might skulk away from this encounter, shaken, defeated, and angry. You’re certain that some particularly nefarious villain told her you were a snake oil salesman, and maybe he did. If only you could expose his lies, you grumble, then she’d invite you in. So you do. But it turns out she’s had it up to here — she doesn’t want either of you coming around. She’s boarded the windows and barricaded the door. Crazy lady, you declare. But you can’t stop thinking about her. Why? She rejected you. And social rejection quite literally hurts. No? Then you tell me how she got under your skin.

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