Yesterday, as I was conversing with a good friend, I felt obliged to describe to her a small incident that occured during my lunch break. I tell it to you now:
Usually I spend my midday break grabbing a quick bite then scouring the neighboring outdoor mall, foodcourt, or basement cafeteria for hot tail. Yesterday was no exception. Since it was a relatively dreary and rainy day, I decided to get a hamburger in our building's basement, grab a corner table, and stare at the sweet heinies passing by. I finished my burger and began to crack the book I had brought when I noticed a young professionaless sitting down at a table about three away from mine. Our eyes locked and, slack-jawed, I stared at her without breaking away until she smiled and sat down. For the next ten minutes, I acted like I was actually reading my book, often glancing from the page to see if she was looking at me. In between bites of her chicken salad sandwich, she was doing the same. Oh, and what a deliciously fine minx she was.
This, of course, is the perfect set-up to a story where I walk over, talk to the young woman, and charm her back to my office's broomcloset for a truly Penthouse Confessionals lunch break. However, as I am perpetually and horribly frightened of women, I decided instead to close my book and return to work. The excuse I told myself was that she was probably stupid or crazy. As I stood to go, I looked over at her one more time and saw that she was looking at me. She put her head down and sort of giggled, and it certainly seemed like she was expecting me to come over and talk to her, so I figured "what the hell" and decided to approach her. Somewhere in the process of standing, closing my book, turning, looking, deciding not to go back to work but to instead talk to the girl, and pivoting on my foot, I found my ankle caught twisted in the leg of the chair and capitulated forward, spilling my tray. There was a pause. A few seconds of silence. I picked up the trash from my meal, placed it on the tray, walked to the trashcan and threw it all away, then retreated to work.
What? What? I thought it was charming.
Of course, that story led to another story that is, I can say with assurance, both more embarrasing and more charming, I'm sure. This is the story that was previously requested by Guiseppe Alfonse Funnsylvania on an earlier post. Well, Senor Guapo Diener, here you are:
Back when I worked for Satan, or as they are known in Los Angeles, a "talent manager", I was often asked to go to the corner Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on Wednesday afternoons to get drinks for our weekly meetings. Now, this next part doesn't really have anything to do with the rest of the story, but I would like to state at this point that I worked with five women and four gay men. Nobody else. It was like walking into an estrogen schvitz every day. Ok, back to the topic at hand. It was a Wednesday in late October and I gathered everyone's orders ("Double Chino Mocha Male Pheromones, please!"), then walked to the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf at the corner. I placed my order and moved to the side of the store, waiting for the baristas to froth up the already incredibly sugary confections when I noticed, standing in line to place her order, a smoking hot young lady.
She wore nice sunglasses and a tattered thrift store tee, with a pair of tight-fitting Diesel jeans. All in all, a well put together young woman, and certainly, physically speaking, a real knockout. I glanced at her and she glanced at me. I grabbed a stirring straw from the condiments table and began twirling it, twisting it, nervously wondering if after she ordered she would come over and wait for her drink next to where I was standing. Should I say something? Maybe ask her a question about her coffee. Right, that's original. Maybe just stand here looking coy? Yes, that would be great! So I stood there, waiting for the beverages, occassionally glancing up to catch her eyes. She was definitely looking my way. But was she looking at me? Was she looking at something behind me? She definitely seemed to be staring pretty intently at something in my direction. Also, was she really standing in line for coffee? It seemed as though the person in line behind her just sidestepped her and moved to the cash register. Is there a menu behind me or something? Maybe she's just trying to figure out what she's going to order. But man, she sure is cute. Not fake and too done up like most Los Angeles girls. Earthy, natural beauty. Just the kind of girl that I fall for. Just the kind of girl that I dream of.
And it was then that the middle-aged woman with the fanny pack walked into the store, out of breath, frantic, searching. "Marissa! There you are! Oh my God, we lost you, we didn't know where you went! Oh, thank God. Don't - don't - don't ever get away from the group like that again," she said, grabbed the young woman's hand, and began carting her off. The lovely beauty, now discovered, began throwing a tantrum, though unfortunately her words were indecipherable as she was, I regret to inform, totally retarded.