(no subject)
Not too much. Scottsman should be arriving in a few minutes and we will be testing the van with a trip to the Sands. Although it's a meaningless trip, I'll at least get a feel for the van, which we're taking to Barryville this weekend. Better to test a shotty vehicle before driving it for three hours, right? I think I've heard that before.
I'm indulging in "The House of Leaves". After slugging past the beginning's textbook speak, it's become a great read and I hate to have to put it down. A bit like Truant, eh?
The parakeets sit to my right, quietly clicking and chirping to themselves, musing on my odd behavior, perhaps mocking the cat's. They enjoy the radio, or so I like to believe.
I should feed the cats, speaking of them.
___
Well chums, it's not 12:38 AM. Our trip to the Sands was a success.
Story time.
I was working at the Pet Shop in the Phillipsburg Mall during the summer of 2007. Within a month and some change, I was promoted to manager status without the manager pay - a pretty nice gig if you ask me. (I kid, I kid.) Lauren was my second in command for two reasons. The first of which being she was more knowledgeable than I and the second being that she was as goofy and irresponsible as myself.
Lauren doesn't have much to do with this story, but she was a very important part of my time there.
There was a beautiful young woman by the name of Jessica working at Regis Salon just down the mall a bit. She would come in every few days to grab ten crickets. For what, I never asked, couldn't ask. My mouth could never cooperate with my brain when she was near. Few women do that to me, and those that do know it. You sure do.
Jess had faint purple highlights and usually had purple accents on her clothes. She always wore her black apron when she came. She always smiled around me and had a perfect tooth-to-gum ratio...
It was the usually crush, I suppose. I didn't have contacts then, so I was all glasses all the time. How she found the courage to talk to me, I'll never know. Perhaps I put myself down more often than I should. Perhaps it's the right amount.
Jess came in one day and got her usually crickets. We talked about nothing and it felt like everything. She saw a tiny maltese in the playpen, let out an "aw" (such a pretty noise), and walked over to play with him. I was jealous of the dog, as I'm sure you have assumed. Her eyes flashed when we talked over the puppy. I thought I saw something there. A curse of the hopeful, probably.
Imagine now the scene. My dorky self in an orange Pet Shop collared shirt and blue jeans. Fumbling over my words and trying to maintain eye contact with this purply angel. She has on jeans and a black and purple swirled shirt. One her wrists were homemade bracelets of beads and braids - priceless jewels of dollar store quality. Our glances skittishly meeting at irregular intervals. Between us, a clear plastic pen holding a 1.5 pound maltese puppy, rolling gleefully around in the shredded paper, soaking up all the belly rubs and scratches we were giving him.
It's out of a movie.
Jess leaves, I take my lunch. Thirty minutes later, I return. Lauren pesters me for a moment and hands me a slip of paper. It's Jess' number with her name underneath. This wasn't happening to me. This never happens to me. I always chase the angels. They aren't supposed to chase me.
I text her.
She wants to have dinner. Tonight.
What the hell is going on?
I suggest the only thing I know, can think of.
After work, at ten, we meet at Applebees.
She is wearing her work clothes, as gorgeous as ever. I had another shirt in my car. I feel like a schmuck.
We talk and talk and talk. I'm so entranced by her every word. She lives in Holland, NJ. Wants to style hair professionally. She paints, draws. She thinks I'm cute. Cute! Who thinks that? Honestly! Our dinner runs until midnight. I walk her to her car. We hug. All I want to do it kiss her, taste that smile at which I've so often gazed.
...
The next day she doesn't come in for crickets, but I'm still riding the high from last night. Lauren asks how it went. I say I might be in love. I text her. She texts back. The days float by...
Then she stops texting. I have to return to school. I stop working there and she hasn't replied.
Then I slump.
I pay the mall a visit nearly two weeks after I stopped working. I strolled around Regis, actually casual and uninterested, but she isn't there. Thirty minutes later, I give up and walk out through Bonton. Nearly at the exit, I see her and another man. They're hand in hand and laughing. Turning in the aisles, she sees me with my hand on the door. She smiles that same smile I had grown to anticipate. I can't smile back. I spend only a second in her eyes, my own streaming to her my brokeness.
Then I push my way outside.
I haven't seen or heard from Jess since. I can't remember a last name. She's gone.
I don't delve in the details because I know you've had the same experience, and if you're reading this, then you know me well enough.
That's all for tonight. I hope this was a pleasant stray from my usual drunken upsets.
I'm indulging in "The House of Leaves". After slugging past the beginning's textbook speak, it's become a great read and I hate to have to put it down. A bit like Truant, eh?
The parakeets sit to my right, quietly clicking and chirping to themselves, musing on my odd behavior, perhaps mocking the cat's. They enjoy the radio, or so I like to believe.
I should feed the cats, speaking of them.
___
Well chums, it's not 12:38 AM. Our trip to the Sands was a success.
Story time.
I was working at the Pet Shop in the Phillipsburg Mall during the summer of 2007. Within a month and some change, I was promoted to manager status without the manager pay - a pretty nice gig if you ask me. (I kid, I kid.) Lauren was my second in command for two reasons. The first of which being she was more knowledgeable than I and the second being that she was as goofy and irresponsible as myself.
Lauren doesn't have much to do with this story, but she was a very important part of my time there.
There was a beautiful young woman by the name of Jessica working at Regis Salon just down the mall a bit. She would come in every few days to grab ten crickets. For what, I never asked, couldn't ask. My mouth could never cooperate with my brain when she was near. Few women do that to me, and those that do know it. You sure do.
Jess had faint purple highlights and usually had purple accents on her clothes. She always wore her black apron when she came. She always smiled around me and had a perfect tooth-to-gum ratio...
It was the usually crush, I suppose. I didn't have contacts then, so I was all glasses all the time. How she found the courage to talk to me, I'll never know. Perhaps I put myself down more often than I should. Perhaps it's the right amount.
Jess came in one day and got her usually crickets. We talked about nothing and it felt like everything. She saw a tiny maltese in the playpen, let out an "aw" (such a pretty noise), and walked over to play with him. I was jealous of the dog, as I'm sure you have assumed. Her eyes flashed when we talked over the puppy. I thought I saw something there. A curse of the hopeful, probably.
Imagine now the scene. My dorky self in an orange Pet Shop collared shirt and blue jeans. Fumbling over my words and trying to maintain eye contact with this purply angel. She has on jeans and a black and purple swirled shirt. One her wrists were homemade bracelets of beads and braids - priceless jewels of dollar store quality. Our glances skittishly meeting at irregular intervals. Between us, a clear plastic pen holding a 1.5 pound maltese puppy, rolling gleefully around in the shredded paper, soaking up all the belly rubs and scratches we were giving him.
It's out of a movie.
Jess leaves, I take my lunch. Thirty minutes later, I return. Lauren pesters me for a moment and hands me a slip of paper. It's Jess' number with her name underneath. This wasn't happening to me. This never happens to me. I always chase the angels. They aren't supposed to chase me.
I text her.
She wants to have dinner. Tonight.
What the hell is going on?
I suggest the only thing I know, can think of.
After work, at ten, we meet at Applebees.
She is wearing her work clothes, as gorgeous as ever. I had another shirt in my car. I feel like a schmuck.
We talk and talk and talk. I'm so entranced by her every word. She lives in Holland, NJ. Wants to style hair professionally. She paints, draws. She thinks I'm cute. Cute! Who thinks that? Honestly! Our dinner runs until midnight. I walk her to her car. We hug. All I want to do it kiss her, taste that smile at which I've so often gazed.
...
The next day she doesn't come in for crickets, but I'm still riding the high from last night. Lauren asks how it went. I say I might be in love. I text her. She texts back. The days float by...
Then she stops texting. I have to return to school. I stop working there and she hasn't replied.
Then I slump.
I pay the mall a visit nearly two weeks after I stopped working. I strolled around Regis, actually casual and uninterested, but she isn't there. Thirty minutes later, I give up and walk out through Bonton. Nearly at the exit, I see her and another man. They're hand in hand and laughing. Turning in the aisles, she sees me with my hand on the door. She smiles that same smile I had grown to anticipate. I can't smile back. I spend only a second in her eyes, my own streaming to her my brokeness.
Then I push my way outside.
I haven't seen or heard from Jess since. I can't remember a last name. She's gone.
I don't delve in the details because I know you've had the same experience, and if you're reading this, then you know me well enough.
That's all for tonight. I hope this was a pleasant stray from my usual drunken upsets.