Saturday, September 17, 2011

Not Entirely Perfect

It's around 12:30am.  I'm sitting at the bus stop waiting for the trusty 66, again, when a man walks by remarking,
"Ah, beautiful! Perfect!  That's what I need, a studious young woman.  I'm in love!  Ah, in love!  Bon Soir!"
Studious?  I'm reading a Janet Evanovitch novel.  You know?  Complete with the hunky guy with super powers who muscles his way into the life and bed of a smart but average woman who is taken by him but resists him as they search for the bizarre and supernatural something he's been assigned to find.
"Bon soir" I answer skeptically.
I'm glad to see him walk on.  I'm less glad to see him rush back.

"Oh, you're perfect for me!" he croons peering into my face.  I am suddenly awash in eau de whiskey.  "I always go out with the worst women."  Sad face.  "Where do I find someone like you?"

"Don't shop at Wal-Mart" I say stupidly.  I had meant to indicate that women like me are manufactured in a nicer store, but it didn't come out right.  He, however, took me seriously.

Kneeling in front of me he murmurs more about my wit and intelligence and feminine physicality and how good we could be together.

"Um... I do have like, four boyfriends" I say trying to ward him off.

"That's okay, I have 12 girlfriends."

"I thought you said that you didn't like the women you go out with."

"No, they're terrible.  They're all Prada and Gucci."

"Oh, so you need someone between Wal-Mart and Prada."

"Hey, how about I give you my number?  You can call me.  We'll have coffee.  It'll be amazing, I promise you.  I'm amazing.  You'll love me."  He's kneeling in front of me again, one hand on one side of the bench, the other lightly grasping my shin.

"No thank you."

"But you're perfect for me!  We could be so good together!"

"No, I don't want it."

"What's your name?"

"Diane."  This is my fall back name I always give when I won't give my real name and I don't want to fight about it.

"Oooooh.  I'm Arcturo."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too.  How about I give you my number and you can call me later?"

"No, I don't want it."

"Hey, I'm not asking for your number.  Just take mine and call me.  You won't regret it."

"No.  I don't take numbers from drunk people."

"No, I don't... I'm an author.  There's a reason.  I'll tell you in the morning.  Take my number!"

He's grabbing at my shin now and I fold up my book and uncross my legs.  He apologizes realizing he's been touching me.

"No, thank you."  I don't know why I was being so polite to him or engaging with him at all.  I think it was because he wasn't scaring me.

"No, I really know we'll be amazing together."

"I tell you what.  I'm likely to be here around this time every third Friday of the month."  He's not going to remember this tomorrow.

"Oh, that's how it is?"  He's incredulous for a second, then whiny again.  "Just take my number."


He stands up.  Gives me a pitying look mumbles something about don't know what I'm missing.  He starts to walk away.  Half a block later, he turns around and runs back.

"I just know you're perfect for me.  I've met my true love!" He leans in and tries to kiss me on the cheek.  I lean back and push him away.  He has the good grace to leave, maybe some vestiges of social aptitude are working through the cracks in his pickled personality. 

Friday, September 2, 2011

Going My Way?

After the recent burglary, my newest discovery is that, whoever it was, stole all my dance shoes. Of course I discover this on my way to dance. Aside: these people were fucking nuts. Seriously, payless sneakers with leather glued to the bottom? I pick out a pair of worn down soles and leave the house.

I'm making my way towards Central and notice a red pickup with a red cap drive opposite me. A block later the same red pick up with the same red cap pulls alongside the curb. "You need a ride?" the man asks.

Ok, so what is he doing? I guess I mistakenly assume that driving is a means of getting someplace. But clearly if he has turned his car around to meet up with someone going the opposite direction as him, he has other goals. Sadly, this doesn't seem uncommon. I've noticed multiple vehicles do the same now that I'm waiting for my newest cultural experience on the 66. Not all of them could just be lost. They must have GPS for women who are alone.

"Turn left.  You have reached your destination in... 300 feet. Recalculating. ... Make a U turn when possible. Continue 100 feet. Your potential conquest is on the right."