Thinking about things...
I was sitting here, thinking about a great many things. (Not really, more like one thing in particular, but saying "Thinking about a great many things" makes me sound far more wise than I am, so I decided to go with it.) Long, long ago in a land far, far away, I was a cook in a convenient store. Not a chef, that would have been far too superfluous a title. This wasn't that type of place, not this town; no, my employment was as a cook. And although it was called a convenient store, it wasn't really that convenient. Trudging forward...
During my tenure as cook for this mistake of a commercial venture, I saw a girl. Blonde. Tall, but not too tall. Thin, but not too thin, and gorgeous beyond belief. She was a relative of some people I knew, although I didn't have any real ties with them aside from the fact that every tuesday I made them dinner. (Burger night in this atrocity known as "Jiffy Trip".) This girl was beautiful. Now, I don't think I can stress this point enough, she was far too good looking. I mean people had to walk by her and say "Well that does it. Look at that girl. Look how incredible she looks. How on earth can I be expected to continue knowing there is someone that attractive in this world? Someone should really have a word with her." That good looking. From the first moment I saw her, I thought to myself "Derek..." and that was about as far as I got as then I would commence to drooling. I imagine that had something to do with the whole fight or flight reflex.
So, gradually, I began to work up the nerve to say something to this girl. Now, sometimes I am gifted with wit and rather charming. This was not one of those times. As she walks into this store, I happen to be directly in her way. Seeing this as an excellent opportunity to begin a conversation, I manage to maintain my position directly in front of her, barring any access to the rest of this facility. She walks up, waits a respectful amount of time, then kindly asks me to move. It was at this point I delivered what is widely considered the worst of all opening statements to ever be known to man. "Me cook...(the ellipse is exactly how it went, as after a three count I began drooling.)" This did not bode well...
Not quite the conversation I had hoped to begin, as drooling is rather hard to reply to. In fact, I can't think of a sensible thing to say when someone begins drooling at you. Twitch perhaps? Who knows... Certainly not at all what I had in mind. Something more along the lines of "You, my dear girl, have the grace and beauty of an angel, and after today, after merely being in your presence, I can die a fulfilled man, as I have seen the most incredible masterpiece God created" would have been far more appropriate a thing to express, sans drooling.
At this point she felt inclined to ignore my last remark and find another route past me. Having nothing further to say on the subject, I quickly ran off to the back of the store to hide in shame and self-loathing. Time goes by. I still see her around, but never in another situation where I could hope to approach her and convince her I was not an idiot nor an escapee from any sort of institution that houses people prone to drooling.
Then, one day, as fate would have it (and fate has it many different ways), I find myself running the register. She walks in with a relative that has absolutely no bearing on this story at all, but I felt needed mentioning for substance. She walks in, directly to the counter, directly in front of me. Our eyes meet. Immediately I reach across the counter, pull her over and tip her back, then proceed to give her a kiss that would have shamed most romantic movies. This was the world war three of kisses, the kiss to end all kisses...
She coughs one of those polite little coughs that is meant to convey that the person doing the coughing would like your attention. I look at her. As reality comes crashing back around me, I realize that there was no kiss. Nothing like this had ever taken place. She smiles at me. She stands there, saying nothing, but continuing to smile. At this point, it becomes apparent she wants something. It also becomes apparent she had already made her demands as a consumer and that by simple virtue of the customer-clerk relationship I should now provide her with the item she seeks.
This was one of those moments where I found it helpful to have my life flash before my eyes. Unfortunately there was nothing there to help me, although there were a great many disturbing images of penguins. Something to be examined later, but at the moment, I had more pressing matters at hand...
I began to assess my options. I could politely ask again, or I could curl up in the fetal position and cry. I linger on the thought of curling up and crying like a two-year-old, but decide against it. "Er, well, what?" I say. It should be pointed out that at this time, the line on the other side of the counter had grown to astronomical proportions. I now had an audience that would rival any superbowl or concert. As the crowd looks on expectantly, I further state my case by adding, "Errrrr..." To this she replies, "I would like a pack of Marlboro Lights please." (Now to borrow a line or two from a Douglas Adams book.) At this point I decided that just as discretion is the better part of valor, so was cowardice the better part of discretion, so I valiantly ran off to the back to hide, once again, in shame and self-loathing.
Once again I had proven quite conclusively that I had absolutely no chance of engaging this perfect specimen of femininity in conversation. I also proved that it is possible to move so swiftly that a dusty, smoky outline of your body is left behind just as they show in old Road-Runner cartoons. I never saw this girl again. Fate, it would seem, could not think of a reason to have me further humiliate myself, and I was inclined to agree with fate on this particular occasion.
I learned a lesson that day. That lesson is this: Sometimes it is perfectly reasonable for a grown man to curl up into a ball and cry. But only sometimes...