Howdy. *Jackson Wellesey Tide here.
Waiting sucks.
Earlier in the week I happened upon a rather nice looking girl at Hastings. I consider myself an avid reader and so I'm always on the lookout for something intelligent and hysterical. The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson (author of The Men Who Stare At Goats) is pretty hilarious. I'm not a psychopath by the way. I read the book.
So I'm at Hastings perusing the non fiction when I see this girl walk by. She's got long dark brown hair and a friendly smile. She looks at me and then disappears behind the next shelf. I can tell she works there because of her outfit. I think it'd be cool to work at Hastings provided you get a healthy discount. Plus that girl's pretty good looking.
So I'm listening to the Beta Band and letting my foot tap out and occasionally a few lyrics of the song will pop out of my mouth like eggs. Easter eggs. I was thinking about getting a book about Hunter S. Thompson. I have a job to do next week involving a guy who's a programmer for Nine Data Networks, so all I'm doing is waiting for the nuerotoxin I ordered to arrive. Thank you Ebay. I figure I can read the book while I'm outside the party he's going to be attending.
The girl walks by again, this time taking a bit longer to move across the aisle. She keeps looking at me.
This is when I start thinking that she thinks
A: That I'm going to steal something.
B: That there's something wrong with my clothes.
C: That there's something hanging out of my nose.
D: That I remind her of someone.
E: That she's interested in me for romantic reasons :)
F: That she's interested in me to destroy. :(
G: That she's not even slightly interested in me at all but there's something interesting behind me.
There's nothing behind me.
I decided to get Thompson's Screwjack. Just as I was plucking the book from the shelf I hear a small cough behind me.
"Hi," she says. Her nametag says Cindy.
I discover I don't have any objections to the name Cindy. I've never met a Cindy in my life. Her eyes are blueish green. Seahawk eyes. So she gets a +5. I'll even be generous and give her another +5 for her name.
"Howdy," I told her, "and I mean that."
She smiled. "You like Hunter S. Thompson?" she asked. Maybe she was a Hunter S. Thompson fanatic, in which case beware. But I had this feeling she wasn't really too interested in the Gonzo.
"Yeah. I like his writing style," I tell her. "It's very unedited. Uncensored. Bursts of rapid energy fueled by the gasoline of his mind. Too bad he killed himself."
We stand there and talk about the Johnny Depp movie and a few documentaries on Thompson and a few of his books and then the conversation gradually gets down to business. She said she'd seen me in here a couple of times with my girlfriend.
"You mean Piper?"
She nodded. "Is she here?"
"No. Piper's gone. She's left for parts unknown. Maybe she's in Peru."
"Aw I'm sorry."
I shrug. "These things happen. To me. A lot."
We continue talking until she has to go serve customers and we agreed to meet for coffee the next day. I had nothing else planned.
When you first go out and engender into the world the possibility of a new relationship you have to gauge just how long it will last. Certainly not forever. There was a time when Piper wanted forever and now she hates my guts.
Of course you know automatically that she's going to be the next ex-girlfriend. You just have to try and figure out how long. Relationships don't come with expiration dates. Sometimes you gotta make them on your own. Like you could tell her from day one; Okay. You have six months until this relationship dissolves starting.....now! Let's get started.
So I'm sitting here waiting for her and from our brief conversations I've discovered this about her.
A: She's not from Seattle. She's from freakin Kentucky. -5
B: She's highly intelligent and well read. +5
C: Her perfume is grand. You wouldn't have to put a gun to my head to make me smell her. Save your bullet man, I'll smell her. +5 for great odor.
D: She's funny. +5
E: She's got great hair. Like super thick and ultra shiny. I think she could be on a Revlon commercial. So we're going to have a lot in common to talk about. +5
F: She'd better be well read. She works at freakin Hastings! 0
I can't stress how important good hair is. You ever pass by a tree and all the leaves are wilted? You want to seriously have your picnic under that tree? That tree's got worms. And ants. How much fun would your picnic be then eh? Leaves are a metaphor for hair. I'm ranking hair right up there with a perfect set of
"Hi," she says, walking in and sitting down.
Well it's about time.
She looks stunning. Today she's wearing blue jean shorts and a pink Seahawks tank top. Her skin is tanned and her arms are toned. She smiles.
I check out her shoes. Addidas. Not bad.
I read a book once on the importance of nonverbal communication.
So I mimic her posture, suggestively, and when she's talking I continue with hand gestures and nod enthusiastically and smile at all the appropriate times and it's clear I'm winning because she's gradually becoming enamored with me.
Cindy.
This could be the beginning of something new. Some new sacred part of my life that has just wandered in from the city streets, to have coffee with me, and someone I can laugh with.
But then there's the Keira Project.
"You play tennis?" she asks.
"I play tennis," I tell her, "terribly. We should play sometime."
She laughs. "How about tomorrow?"
"That sounds great."
We get on the topic of art, a topic that I have casually guided the conversation towards so that I can bring out my art journal. She looks at the sketches and writings and is appropriately amazed and so she gets another +5 points. But lying in the bottom of the messenger's bag is my gun.
"What do you do for a living?" she asks.
I'm an assassin. A hitman. A Big Game Hunter, which sounds far more romantic and adventurous than the job really is. Mainly the job is boring and consists of lots of planning, research, and waiting. The margin for error is slim. I don't tell her this because it's likely to ruin our tennis date tomorrow.
"I work at this little sea-food dive in Seattle. We make nice chowder. You like chowder?"
"I like chowder."
"Hey, who doesn't like chowder? We also make a great oyster chowder."
She laughs.
So we're going to play tennis tomorrow and I haven't played in ages. I have to go buy a racket. These are the things we do for women. Women named Cindy.
Jack Tide is a fictional creation by Michael Callinglast. Go check out his adventures in the novel FEROCITY.
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