The other day I patronized one of these businesses I talk about. A very young, very pretty female employee gave me a really flirty look. The movie poster for a French film called Amelie featured the lead, played by Audrey Tatou, smiling mischievously for the viewer while she looks at the camera from her bowed head. The only difference between how Audrey tattoo looked and how this young woman at this business looked lies in the fact that the movie poster featured a shot of Audrey from a three quarters angle, while the young woman looked directly at me, from a full frontal angle, in this manner. I've been wondering all weekend what that was all about. I will often project really nice, Rich-affirming motives to looks such as the one this young woman gave me, only to find out later that they are coming from a really shitty place with that.
So no, I won't ask this person out in front of God and everyone at her place of employment. I remember this young woman who worked at a Vulcan Video a few years back at one of their old locations. She was really good about talking to customers like me. After a while I would see her talking to other middle-aged men who were in there by themselves, including this one time where I saw her talk at length to some old geezer who clearly saw this as a highlight of his day. But, who am I to judge? To each his own, I guess.
One time I was out on the town walking to a club and I saw her talking on her phone. I thought, all at once, "Gee, I'm so glad I never asked her out at her job in front of God and everyone, because now I have this perfect opportunity to see her on a more social level. Maybe I will get lucky," or some such. I waved to her as she talked on the phone, and she just gave me the shittiest look. I just pointed at her and walked off.
There was this other time, last year, when I found one of these girls on Facebook and sent her a friend request. This girl didn't accept it, but in the weeks after I sent the request, she would give me these looks while I patronized her place of employment that, I guess, were meant to convey a sense of longing for me on her part. Somehow writing about where I thought she might really be coming from with those looks-namely, that putting in a Facebook friend request for her in the first place meant that I had somehow started some kind of shit with her- somehow those looks magically stopped coming from her after I posted that guess on this blog.
Both of these instances remind me of the time in 1988 during my last Summer of school at UT-Austin. In the Spring of that year, I'd had a running flirtation with Sara in a class. At the end of the semester, on the day of the final, I just watched her turn in her final and walk out. I finished my final several minutes later, turned it in, and left the classroom. I didn't even know her name at this point.
During the Summer session, in an art studio at night, I asked a friend of hers if she knew a girl named "Lee." Cathy said she didn't know anyone by that name. I left it at that and didn't press for any more. Some days later I saw Sara in the hall as I rode the elevator and the door opened on her floor. She stood with her back to me as I pointed at her. As I pointed at her, she turned and waved, and the elevator door closed. I laughed heartily. Sara showed up in a class of mine a week or so later, but she fled after she said hi to me, all while she and her friends giggled, and she cut me short after I chased her into the elevator.
A couple of months later, after I had not seen nor heard anything from Sara, I tried to work in the same big studio one night. Eva, one of Sara's friends from that time Sara said "hi" earlier that Summer, stood at an easel working on a painting. As I set up my stuff, I seethed a bit with the idea that I was over the whole Sara thing. Eva talked to a girlfriend for a bit, the girlfriend left, and then Eva and myself occupied the whole studio by ourselves. Eva started coughing. She continued to cough for a while. I took this as a "jump through my hoops" gesture, made a slapping sound with the heel of my palms, as if I were beating my meat, and angrily put my stuff up and left.
What do all three of these incidents have in common? They all represent me doing, to the best I've ever known how, my very best to get to know someone better, and all of these women tried to pass it off as if my best weren't good enough. Well, in all three instances, my best was good enough for me, if not for them. In a post from several weeks back, I talked about how I would like to get to know one such young woman in one of these businesses better in "a perfect world." I think all three instances I've cited demonstrate that I have the ability, at times, to take advantage of more favorable circumstances that represent the closest thing to a perfect world that I can muster on behalf of getting to know such young women better. But, apparently, any of these women who try to put some kind of pressure on me in what seems to constitute an effort to get me to really put myself out there somehow don't really seem to care enough about getting to know me better under more favorable circumstances.
So, no, I won't ask this young woman out at her place of employment, or invite her to one of my musical performances, or give her comic books. The three instances above illustrate how, in times past, I had the patience and smarts to just let all of that go and see if I could find a better way, and if I couldn't, forget about it. Because, all three instances above illustrate how none of the woman who, in my opinion, tried to put me in a position where I felt as if I had to stick my neck out in some way, really responded in an acceptable way to overtures that clearly solved whatever bullshit-existential-"flight or fight"- crisis they wanted to try to instill in me in the first place.
So no, I won't ask this person out in front of God and everyone at her place of employment. I remember this young woman who worked at a Vulcan Video a few years back at one of their old locations. She was really good about talking to customers like me. After a while I would see her talking to other middle-aged men who were in there by themselves, including this one time where I saw her talk at length to some old geezer who clearly saw this as a highlight of his day. But, who am I to judge? To each his own, I guess.
One time I was out on the town walking to a club and I saw her talking on her phone. I thought, all at once, "Gee, I'm so glad I never asked her out at her job in front of God and everyone, because now I have this perfect opportunity to see her on a more social level. Maybe I will get lucky," or some such. I waved to her as she talked on the phone, and she just gave me the shittiest look. I just pointed at her and walked off.
There was this other time, last year, when I found one of these girls on Facebook and sent her a friend request. This girl didn't accept it, but in the weeks after I sent the request, she would give me these looks while I patronized her place of employment that, I guess, were meant to convey a sense of longing for me on her part. Somehow writing about where I thought she might really be coming from with those looks-namely, that putting in a Facebook friend request for her in the first place meant that I had somehow started some kind of shit with her- somehow those looks magically stopped coming from her after I posted that guess on this blog.
Both of these instances remind me of the time in 1988 during my last Summer of school at UT-Austin. In the Spring of that year, I'd had a running flirtation with Sara in a class. At the end of the semester, on the day of the final, I just watched her turn in her final and walk out. I finished my final several minutes later, turned it in, and left the classroom. I didn't even know her name at this point.
During the Summer session, in an art studio at night, I asked a friend of hers if she knew a girl named "Lee." Cathy said she didn't know anyone by that name. I left it at that and didn't press for any more. Some days later I saw Sara in the hall as I rode the elevator and the door opened on her floor. She stood with her back to me as I pointed at her. As I pointed at her, she turned and waved, and the elevator door closed. I laughed heartily. Sara showed up in a class of mine a week or so later, but she fled after she said hi to me, all while she and her friends giggled, and she cut me short after I chased her into the elevator.
A couple of months later, after I had not seen nor heard anything from Sara, I tried to work in the same big studio one night. Eva, one of Sara's friends from that time Sara said "hi" earlier that Summer, stood at an easel working on a painting. As I set up my stuff, I seethed a bit with the idea that I was over the whole Sara thing. Eva talked to a girlfriend for a bit, the girlfriend left, and then Eva and myself occupied the whole studio by ourselves. Eva started coughing. She continued to cough for a while. I took this as a "jump through my hoops" gesture, made a slapping sound with the heel of my palms, as if I were beating my meat, and angrily put my stuff up and left.
What do all three of these incidents have in common? They all represent me doing, to the best I've ever known how, my very best to get to know someone better, and all of these women tried to pass it off as if my best weren't good enough. Well, in all three instances, my best was good enough for me, if not for them. In a post from several weeks back, I talked about how I would like to get to know one such young woman in one of these businesses better in "a perfect world." I think all three instances I've cited demonstrate that I have the ability, at times, to take advantage of more favorable circumstances that represent the closest thing to a perfect world that I can muster on behalf of getting to know such young women better. But, apparently, any of these women who try to put some kind of pressure on me in what seems to constitute an effort to get me to really put myself out there somehow don't really seem to care enough about getting to know me better under more favorable circumstances.
So, no, I won't ask this young woman out at her place of employment, or invite her to one of my musical performances, or give her comic books. The three instances above illustrate how, in times past, I had the patience and smarts to just let all of that go and see if I could find a better way, and if I couldn't, forget about it. Because, all three instances above illustrate how none of the woman who, in my opinion, tried to put me in a position where I felt as if I had to stick my neck out in some way, really responded in an acceptable way to overtures that clearly solved whatever bullshit-existential-"flight or fight"- crisis they wanted to try to instill in me in the first place.
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