I am just sitting here. Minding my own business. Hating life.
I went to bed at 1am and woke up at 4:30am. I sat on my delayed flight for 35 minutes before the plane even moved.
Even though I was up so early, I still have time to kill, so I got an Americano and a chocolate muffin from the airport coffee shop. Both are shit.
I’m on my way to yet another conference where 9 of my asshole bosses are going to tell lies to my customers that I will have to account for and answer to. They will light fires today that I will have to put out tomorrow. I have no purpose at this event. I am not presenting, chasing a
I don’t know any of this is coming my way while I am hating my breakfast and the story isn’t really about that because she really ruins my day before any of that started.
Anyway, back to me sitting here. I notice her walk up to the counter and yes, OK, I’m a guy, I notice that she is gorgeous and has an amazing body and all those other dirty thoughts that go along with that. And yes, I am picturing her naked. It is awesome. She looks great.
She is wearing one of those disgusting velour track suits. Only she is pulling it off. Despite the fact that it is the color of a hookers eye makeup. Her hair is in a perfect messy ponytail or clippy thing or whatever. Her hairstyle says, “No, I don’t want to join the mile high club, I’m already a member.” A low waist and tight around her perfectly shaped butt. Zipped low enough to show a screaming glimmer of hope. Mocking me with her cleavage. A glorious 3 inches of skin between the pants and the top is what puts me over the top. She has those hip bones. She wears flip flops and she has nice feet (not that I’m into feet, they just aren't gross, which is nice) and she is tan. Real tan, not bottled tan.
I’m still sitting here. What am I going to do run over and introduce myself, buy her a coffee and offer her a seat at my table? There is exactly one chair left in this area and it is across from me at my table. She glances around the room, notices the seat, and glides right over. She doesn't even give the room a panicked second glance why doesn't she look harder you don’t just approach a stranger like this!!
“Is anyone sitting here?” She asks in her angelic voice with a perfect smile and I swear to God her teeth sparkle like in the movies. She very easily could have said, “Get your shit off my table and disappear. In your cheap department store suit. You disgust me. You’re a disgrace.” Because all of those things are true. I hate this stupid department store suit. Anyway, she could have said all that and I would still tell this story as if it were a triumph simply because I was so near to her and she spoke in my general direction.
All of this is going through my head for a few seconds. Then I realize she was waiting for a response. She is looking at me with anticipatory raised eyebrows and a still great smile when she should have been dumping hot coffee all over my useless crotch.
So with a mouth full of chocolate crap muffin I shake my head yes for a full 10 seconds before muttering “sure thing” and spitting chunks on the table as I spoke. Brilliant. She sits down but my tray is right in the middle of the table which doesn't leave enough room for hers. I am busy in my mind trying to determine what sickness I must have to be this delusional and also what the other people in the shop must be thinking at the sight of me talking at what has to be no one. She is forced to give a perfectly cute giggle as she tries to set her tray down with mine clearly in the way. She probably should have picked up my tray and slammed it over my head, but her way worked too, I move my tray back without a word. I triy to do it deliberately and not like an imaginary goddess had asked me to. All this for the benefit of the other patrons. I want no one to worry. Or call security on the looney in the coffee shop spitting all over his table and talking to himself. Anyway, her demeanor is perfect and she doesn't feel awkward at all and I might as well be naked on the jumbotron at the Super Bowl.
I decide to ignore her. For obvious reasons. This is obviously a trap or a dream or at the very least a total disaster. It is a test.
In my attempt to ignore her, I pull my book out of my bag. Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut. Backfire for my original plan but major accomplishment for my as yet formed and newly developing plan. To win her heart forever, of course. My how things change. Once I have my book out, she quickly goes into her own bag and fetches a dagger for my heart. Cat’s Cradle by, guess who, Kurt Vonnegut. She puts it on the table and slides it towards me so that I can't miss it. When I see it I am surprised enough that I say nothing. I just sit here and stare at her sort of wide-eyed, a face that could be interpreted as confusion, disdain, pleasure, fear for my life, discomfort, etc, etc, who knows what it looks like but what seems like an hour passes by and the whole time I am thinking, “sure, go ahead, find a way to hate me for this…”
“You read Kurt Vonnegut!” That’s an exclamation point friend, not a question mark. It is a statement. An excited statement. Her inflection is one not filled with contempt, much to my surprise. It is more like “Finally! I can’t believe it! I was just telling all the other beauty queens that I am going to marry the next guy I find who reads the same very widely circulated best selling author as me!”
What follows is unreal to me. Uncharted territory. A conversation that includes some or all of the following:
- I’ve only read a few of his.
- Did you read Slaughterhouse Five?
- Did you know he really was in
- He’s very witty and funny.
- Who else do you like?
And other relevant questions, answers, opinions, words, and sentences that make up what appears to me like a normal conversation. I consider it a success because I say nothing stupid or insulting and when it is over she is still here. It is the most successful conversation I’ve ever had for that reason.
I could have keep going. She is actually making it very easy for me. My plan is to segue from Vonnegut to Palahniuk and then to movies via Fight Club. After movies/actors/actresses I will transition to music via Glen Hansard and Once. These were all topics that I can deal with and seem like good topics for normal, interesting, get to know you type questions for regular people in coffee shops.
But I am cut short. Don’t panic, you wont believe this. I am interrupted from the Palahniuk Transition by some prick interrupting us with the most obnoxious “Is that whats-her-name from such and such’s blah blah blah class? Oh my God I can’t believe it’s you what are you doing here? Gosh you look as great as ever!!”
It is apparently a former classmate of hers happening by in the airport. Of course I am immediately put off and since this jackass is wearing an Armani suit I decide to fold. I am fully prepared to give my It Was Nice Meeting You sendoff when I realize that I know this guy. A friend of a friend type situation, we have met once or twice. He recognizes me at about the same time as I recognize him. He also recognizes my suit. Shit.
They could easily go off on tangents that don’t involve me. About the fun times they had in school or the people they knew or inside jokes. If I am them, that’s what I would be doing. But they don’t do that. Instead, we all three have a conversation, which was the last thing I thought would happen. Small talk. Chat. About the weather and the local sports teams and the coffee and why we are all at the airport.
Why we are all at the airport is another reason this story is worth telling. As it turns out, Whatshisface is going to the same event I am, put on by my company, only he was invited as a guest because he is a potential customer of the particular products that I sell. I wouldn’t have been more surprised if I had woken up with my hands sewn to my face.
Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, we work out a plan to do business together. I barely had to give my pitch, and we even made plans to close a decent sized deal as soon as we were both back to our desks after the conference.
So Guy takes off, he has to Take Care of Some Things before we meet again at the conference so I’m left here with my dream girl. It is getting close to time for me to go, but I am 100% willing to blow it off and sit at this airport coffee shop that serves burnt Folgers and last weeks muffins with this girl. Of course, she has somewhere to be too. I’m rolling now, on cruise control, confidence is at an all time high, so I make a move.
“So can I get your number?” or something like that…
“Nope.”
Shit. I should have known. How could I be so dumb? Did I forget who I was for a sec?
“Ok, well it was nice to mee…”
“No silly, you give me your number, and no fakes, I’m sick of giving my number to guys and never hearing from them again. You give me yours and I will definitely call you about this weekend.”
Nothing could bring me down. I could wake up the next morning to find my own kidney listed on EBay and shake it off. I might even bid on it with a smile on my face. The world is my oyster. Things are looking up.
So anyway, I’m still sitting here. Sipping my bitter drink and nibbling at my crumbly muffin and watching a very attractive girl in a turquoise velour track suit order a coffee and walk away, counting down the minutes…
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4 comments:
Wow.
At least the trip wasn't a total bomb.
Well...did she ever call you? And does this fab lady have a real name????
No mom, this is fiction.
Dude, my mom wears track suit bottoms and has a pretty smile. Was it her?
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