(Yet another) Johnny V's anecdote, this one more present:
stopped over for a late-night supping at the J-Five last nite, around one a. I ordered the grilled cheese deluxe, with ham AND bacon, and a Coca-Cola from a pleasant waitress of twenty ('Stallis native, who takes the Badger Coach back to town on weekends to work at her old high-school hang, and when she's not busied with her Italian-majoring at UW-Damison), and talked with a her a little bit about the presidential election of the last year, and living in Europe, and Peace Corps. So, I tipped her well -- she did her waitressing impeccably; quick service, wit -- friendly, even to a spazz such as I am.
But, moreso than I talked to her, I talked to a woman eating her take-in meal of burger and chips from a styrofoam take-away container. I opened our dialogue then to ask, Why are you eating-in from an eat-out server?
She explained, She had come in with her friend, after taking drinks at the Parrot (local bar, just around the corner from J-Five), but her friend had to depart to vomit. So, she, the woman with whom I was conversing, wouldn't be staying long either.
Regardless, she stuck around a bit enough -- say, twenty minutes -- to share half-and-half with me. We touched on growing up 'Stallis, exchanging anecdotes of Hale High School and Heartbreaker's (the latter as ripped straight from the police blotter), and of where we'd been besides, and where we were now.
She, of course, is a young baby-mother, my brother's age (twenty-seven) with a son just over a year old, and stay-at-home mom. Presumably, then, too, she is married -- I noticed several rings on her her fingers, inclusive two or three on her left hand ring finger -- or staying with her boyfriend (who may or may not be the baby-father). And, that's cool, that's cool...
What I have to ask, though, and this is not the first time this has happened to me -- why, as she was leaving, did she not only say, Nice talking to you; I hope you get home safely, but also stroke my right upper-arm ever so slightly, in a clockwise fashion. Especially if she's got a man. (I know, I know -- what's her man got to do with this?)
Usually, that kind of subtle tactility I would associate with flirtation, and (being a formal gent) flirtation I associate with displaying a (keen?) sexualized interest in someone.
But, she's already got a man, and presumably one better than I.
Why did she feel the need to part not just with words, then, but touch?
Why, oh why?
Why did SDSU coed Melissa, who took two classes with me in Spain, but whom I pointedly did not know -- we just happened to attend schools, divided by nigh two thousand miles, with the same Spain-study programme -- try to coo at me on an occasion or three (four?), and one time going "so far" as to grasp my (again) right arm ever so softly, but obviously, and when she had (though probably only on the level of friend-with-benefits (if that term was still en vogue in early '00)) a man, an Asian man at that, from (Got-damned serendipity) UW-Damison, which was another school sharing the Reunidas programme)?
... I am already so old, almost twenty-five, and well past pubescence, but I have so much to learn about women. In fact, I have everything to learn about them. I know nothing....
Nothing, Lebowski, I knows nothings.
stopped over for a late-night supping at the J-Five last nite, around one a. I ordered the grilled cheese deluxe, with ham AND bacon, and a Coca-Cola from a pleasant waitress of twenty ('Stallis native, who takes the Badger Coach back to town on weekends to work at her old high-school hang, and when she's not busied with her Italian-majoring at UW-Damison), and talked with a her a little bit about the presidential election of the last year, and living in Europe, and Peace Corps. So, I tipped her well -- she did her waitressing impeccably; quick service, wit -- friendly, even to a spazz such as I am.
But, moreso than I talked to her, I talked to a woman eating her take-in meal of burger and chips from a styrofoam take-away container. I opened our dialogue then to ask, Why are you eating-in from an eat-out server?
She explained, She had come in with her friend, after taking drinks at the Parrot (local bar, just around the corner from J-Five), but her friend had to depart to vomit. So, she, the woman with whom I was conversing, wouldn't be staying long either.
Regardless, she stuck around a bit enough -- say, twenty minutes -- to share half-and-half with me. We touched on growing up 'Stallis, exchanging anecdotes of Hale High School and Heartbreaker's (the latter as ripped straight from the police blotter), and of where we'd been besides, and where we were now.
She, of course, is a young baby-mother, my brother's age (twenty-seven) with a son just over a year old, and stay-at-home mom. Presumably, then, too, she is married -- I noticed several rings on her her fingers, inclusive two or three on her left hand ring finger -- or staying with her boyfriend (who may or may not be the baby-father). And, that's cool, that's cool...
What I have to ask, though, and this is not the first time this has happened to me -- why, as she was leaving, did she not only say, Nice talking to you; I hope you get home safely, but also stroke my right upper-arm ever so slightly, in a clockwise fashion. Especially if she's got a man. (I know, I know -- what's her man got to do with this?)
Usually, that kind of subtle tactility I would associate with flirtation, and (being a formal gent) flirtation I associate with displaying a (keen?) sexualized interest in someone.
But, she's already got a man, and presumably one better than I.
Why did she feel the need to part not just with words, then, but touch?
Why, oh why?
Why did SDSU coed Melissa, who took two classes with me in Spain, but whom I pointedly did not know -- we just happened to attend schools, divided by nigh two thousand miles, with the same Spain-study programme -- try to coo at me on an occasion or three (four?), and one time going "so far" as to grasp my (again) right arm ever so softly, but obviously, and when she had (though probably only on the level of friend-with-benefits (if that term was still en vogue in early '00)) a man, an Asian man at that, from (Got-damned serendipity) UW-Damison, which was another school sharing the Reunidas programme)?
... I am already so old, almost twenty-five, and well past pubescence, but I have so much to learn about women. In fact, I have everything to learn about them. I know nothing....
Nothing, Lebowski, I knows nothings.