Wednesday, February 26, 2003

Conversations with strangers

Monday, 11:55 am
Elevator

Young, short, geeky-looking man politely lets me enter first, though we have arrived at the same time.

Me: Are you going to 2? [Though he could be going to any of the five floors. I am immediately annoyed that I didn't confidently ask "Which floor?" like on TV]

Him: No, I'm going to 5, actually. Are you going to the dentist? [I've given myself away. I am so not Sydney Bristow.]

Me: Yes, unfortunately. [Cryptically, trying to sound elusive and competent to throw him off. Even though I'm wearing dirty jeans and scuffed mules and look anything but Sydney-ish.]

Silence for 3 seconds. The doors open.

Him: Good luck.

He didn't come to kill me. I get a filling, demanding 2 shots of novocaine so that I am uncomfortably numb for the next 4 hours.

* * *

Monday, 3:47 pm
Super Wal-Mart, Burlington, NC

I park in the handicapped spot, going against my policy of not doing so, since there are approximately one million cars in the parking lot, and I am in a terrible hurry to get to Blowing Rock - 3 hours away - before dark. I need baby-proofing drawer latches, so do I go in the food or the regular door? I can't really decide, knowing there's no rhyme or reason inside - choose the regular, grumbling already. I spot an actual employee in toys - a middle-aged, short woman missing some teeth.

Me: Can you tell me where the baby stuff is? [I say it so sweetly I am actually surprised at myself.]

Her: Okay, honey. You see that red line down there at the end of this aisle? [There are, for some reason, two red lines painted on the tile] Well, you go to those lines and turn left and it will be right there.

Me: Thank you so much. [I walk to the red lines, turn left, right into the aisle of baby dolls. Yeah, that's what I meant.]

* * *

Wednesday, 9:37 am
My computer in my office

Surfing, searching for the lyrics to Pink Floyd; many pop-ups.

Me: Stupid pop-ups.

The Pop-up: La grande casino du monde!

Me: Heh. It's French. Maybe I should go play poker . . .

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