June 05, 2006

Lose Weight, Get Balls

You know something I failed to mention about the Goddess? Sometimes she makes you do crazy things. Not like crime-of-passion, homicidal things (but yeah, those too), but things that she thinks will make her happy. And like the little manipulative spirit she is, she will use your body to get what she wants. Hence the events that took place last night at work.

I’m slinging coffee, par for a Sunday, balancing my lack of sleep / shower with the requisite shots of espresso, and am maintaining a pretty good mood, when I wait on a guy that seems fairly sweet. He asked me how it was going, and my long pause before I said OK gave us enough time for the Starbucks-approved Ten Second Chat. He gets his coffee, I take his cash, but I notice that he’s looking at me a little differently. Almost… flirtily? Maybe? I’d have to shake some dust off of something to accurately place the feeling, but it seemed genuine. He sat down to study, and my fellow baristas encouraged me to give him the digits. Oddly enough, I found myself agreeing with them (my usual tack is to blush, deny any attraction, etc) and wishing business would die down a little bit so I could get my schwerve on. To my chagrin, it didn’t, and he left unceremoniously. Dammit.

I had just about rationalized all of the risks not taken, as usual, when he came back in. He got another cappuccino (yeah, I paid attention. Shut it.) and sat at the same table. Since I rely very heavily on signs from the universe (I can’t make decisions; if you think of the world as one giant 8-Ball, they all get made for you, with the added bonus that nothing is ever your fault), I decided that he had come back so I could hit on him, in proper accordance with cosmic destiny. It wasn’t until the end of my shift that I got the chance.

Let me say that I do not do this. Ever. I have never asked a complete stranger out on a date, or coffee, or whatever the hell people do before they decide they’re a couple. My two relationships were right out of high school, and I had known both boys for upwards of four years, and the dating was pretty much a sure thing. Let me also say that I have a well-known reputation for not trusting people; I tend to assume that one in every five people is a serial killer (and, as Aunt Sooz put it, “the other four have ‘issues’.”) But there was something about this guy that instantly made me like him. Not trust him, exactly, but not fear him in any capacity. He wasn’t even overly personable, I just felt like we were on the same level. After two sentences comprised of thirty seconds. This does not happen to me. I ascribe the event to his personality, the aforementioned Goddess-possession, and a little voice in the back of my head saying ‘You lost 30 pounds. Would Fat Me have asked him out? Never. Go find out what Skinny Me does.’

I tapped him on the shoulder, and I suppose the second he took to unplug his headphones should have given me a minute to figure out what the hell to say. I don’t even remember being nervous, or working out sentences in my head; I apologized for interrupting his studying, and told him that I knew that if he came back, I would have to ask him if he would go out with me.

Crap. That came out really quiet. Did he even hear me? God, I don’t know if I can repeat it. How do boys do this? It’s hard! Oh, his eyebrows went up. He heard me.

CUTE BOY: Oh, wow…
BEEDOO: Just say you have a girlfriend. It’s fine.

WHAT?! You TOOL! Way to blow it!

CUTE BOY: No, well, I do, actually—
BEEDOO: Right. That’s OK.

Keep smiling, for Chrissakes; try to keep it light. And stop interrupting.

CUTE BOY: No, but if I didn’t… yes, I would go out with you.
BEEDOO: (backing up to quit annoying him) Oh, well, thanks anyways.
CUTE BOY: I mean obviously. You’re so beautiful.

?

BEEDOO: Oh, you’d better marry her.
CUTE BOY: (laughs) Well, I don’t know…
BEEDOO: You’re so nice. This is hard.
CUTE BOY: Thank you. I think. I’m just—wow, I’m… this is really nice.

This is not going at all like I thought.

BEEDOO: Thanks. Well, I’m going to go now—
CUTE BOY: (getting up, I think with a hand on my elbow, but it’s all a bit fuzzy now) No, wait—you don’t have to go...
BEEDOO: Um, I do actually. My shift just ended.
CUTE BOY: (slightly embarrassed) Oh. Well, then… yeah. (smiles)
BEEDOO: (laughs) OK. Well, then…

Dude. He wanted me to stay. That is adorable. Crap. He has dimples. I wonder how fast I can sprint to my car. NO! Finish conversation. Keep smiling.

CUTE BOY: No, really, I mean it. If I didn’t have a girlfriend, then yes, I… of course would.
BEEDOO: Oh, well that’s fine, I understand.

Hey, a full sentence! Good job! Keep it up!

CUTE BOY: (offers hand) I’m John.
BEEDOO: (shaking hands) [Beedoo].
CUTE JOHN: (notably still holding my hand) You have beautiful eyes.

Duh? Huh? Wha? …D’oh! Say ‘thank you!’

BEEDOO: Oh.. I.. uh.

THANK YOU!

BEEDOO: Thank you.
CUTE JOHN: You’re welcome.
BEEDOO: Well… I’ll see you around?
CUTE JOHN: Yes. It was really nice to meet you.
BEEDOO: And you. Thanks, John.

Good job. Get your jacket. I’m hyperventilating, so I’ll meet you in the car.

So yeah, Tae Bo basically did itself last night.

I think the lesson here is that all women need to get the hell over feeling sorry about the way they look. If a man can tell me honestly that I’m beautiful with unwashed hair, unplucked eyebrows, wearing a Starbucks apron with a dishrag in my hand on the first day of my period, then every woman everywhere is beautiful. Trust me.

1 comment:

Christine said...

Yay!

Even if he did have a girlfriend (who I can take out, if need be)...that's just such a nice thing to say.