You're Welcome

Thanks for the pen.

You're welcome, of course.  Is this your work?

Yes, it's all my work.

It's very nice, I like it here.

Thank you!

It's really fitting for this space.

Thank you!

...

Just to be clear, I didn't mean that in any weird passive aggressive way...

Haha, I know

I know it could have seemed that way, like as though I thought this place was awful or something.

It's OK, you're fine

I mean, I guess why would I come here all the time if I hated it, right?

Yeah, totally.

Of course you don't know that I come here all the time, you've never seen me before.  For all you know this is my first time here and I hate it.

No, not what I'm thinking at all.

And the place is under construction, so that adds another level to it.

Yeah.  I guess it does.

I guess you just never know when you're being passive aggressive to someone, it's really not entirely your decision.

Totally.

Thoughts of a Dancing Man (And the Waitress He's Courting)

I saw her earlier, I hope she hasn't left yet. Well if she was still here then she's probably closing.

Ok, 25 minutes left and I'm leaving.  If Jeannette thinks I'm going to stay late and wrap silverware off the clock because she spent all night flirting w/ Kalan again...  Was that guy just dancing?

Should I face the back wall?  I mean, why would I face the doorway?  If I face the wall, it will look like I really just don't even care if people see me. I'll just look like a guy casually practicing his hip hop dance routine in an empty room at a café.  No wait, I've seen the way I look from behind, my arms look super boney and the back of my head comes to a point. Plus I need to make eye contact with her and look all young and optimistic, like I haven't been defeated by the world. I'm pretty sure that's been my problem. Girls like a guy who has dreams and ambitions.  Otherwise the relationship just turns into codependency.  

Do I want to walk by that room again?  It looked like he had headphones on, so that means I don't have to acknowledge him, right?  I could walk around the other way... DAMMIT! Roger is over there, and he'll definitely say something to me, I've been avoiding him all night.  Ugh.  "Regulars" at a cafe is just a fancy word for stalkers who tip.

I wonder if she has ambitions like I do.  She works as a waitress at a cafe right now, but maybe she goes to ASU? This is a bit of a drive from ASU.  Wait, this place is closer to Grand Canyon University than ASU.  Fuck, that would mean she's weird and Christian.  Is someone being Christian reason enough to not date them?  No way, that can't be right! That would make me a bigot or something, right? I mean, I don't know if I'd be down with waiting until marriage for sex, but maybe I could convince her to go all the way sooner... like maybe a few weeks? Wait, is what I am thinking about rape?   

Fuck, I still need to clear out that room.  What if there's someone in there? That would be so creepy.  Should I like, ask Joe to go kick him out?  He looks so young and optimistic though, like he hasn't been defeated by the world.

Oh shit, here she comes!  She's... she's totally ignoring me and trying to clean the tables. SHIT, she thinks I'm a weirdo.  I should just get out of her way.  Yeah, and I'll mutter things about my routine, like a... a soliloquy and shit, like I'm a tortured genius!  I can totally imagine someone being interviewed about their rise to fame and their humble beginnings practicing in alleys and in the back rooms in coffee houses.  I'm just working hard, I'm so focused and I don't even notice she's there.  I'm dedicated, and I don't even give a shit about her. Girls like a guy who seems like he doesn't give a shit.

Oh god he's one of those people who says all of his thoughts out loud like he's narrating his life, even when nobody is around.  Well, I'm around, but I don't count.  Wait. No, I totally count. Why the fuck is he saying this shit out loud when I'm in the room? I gotta tell him he can't do this here.

Other customers? What other customers?  Man, I can't take this, she's walking all over me.   I gotta come back with something or she won't respect me.

Oh god that was so awkward.  Of course the room was empty, he probably scared everyone out.  It felt good to confront someone though.  Does that make me an oppressor?  Am I the world weighing down on him? Crushing his dreams?  Oh man, I totally want to go tell Jeannette about this... but if I do that I'll be roped into wrapping up silverware for sure.

Wait, she's standing just outside the doorway... I can see her shadow.  Play it cool, maybe she's about to come back in and apologize. Nope, she's walking away... yeah, she's definitely going to tell her coworkers about me.  Now for the walk of shame.  I'll leave my headphones on.  Shit, the cord hits the floor.  I'll just wrap it up and put it in my pocket.

Smartphone Screens are Huge

Inner thoughts interpreted from observed behavior of a girl around 20 years old who takes a break from reading an article in a sociology journal (ostensibly mining it for the required external sources for a research paper) to take a selfie.  She looks at the pic and creates a blank message and keeps looking at two names in her phone:  Erica and Dave.

This'll do. My chin is doing that thing, but my tits look huge... what did Lindsey say, "Tastefully spilling" over my sports bra?  Dave would totally lose his shit if I send this.  Am I in the mood for that?  That'll pretty much guarantee that I'll end up spending the night again...should I do that?  Continue to encourage this? I don't want to just go home and pass out, but I don't know if I'm up for all that. I miss Erica, I should send it to her, this really captures where I'm at in life right now, buried in text books and all discombobulated. I miss her so much and she sent me that pic of her dogs so I owe her... look at them, so adorable. I hope I get to see them when I go home for Thanksgiving.  but if I start talking to her I won't get anything done and I'll be on the phone all night bullshitting about high school and Santa Cruz. But I do miss her.  Dave is so chill. Maybe I could just send him the pic and and see him Friday? But a Wednesday booty call is so perfect, I could use that this week. It'll be like a temporary weekend! Ugh I still have so much to do here.

Dave is perfect for nights like this, he is like clockwork. Never keeps me up too late, good for a solid three times, the third being right before work which is nice.  He's like sleeping pills and an alarm clock! lol  He always promises me breakfast but never gets up on time for both, and I can stop at Starbucks for one of those things! lol  I just hope he's not getting the wrong idea.  Should I wait until he texts me? No, because then I'd be encouraging him; I'd be rewarding him for reaching out to me.

I hope he doesn't wanna sext, I don't have energy for that shit. Id have to take a shower and stuff. This new phone is so... vivid. Too vivid. Oh god, my forehead is shining, let me try this again. How do I keep getting greasy? There's no humidity here! Where does it come from?

Though that time he sent me those pics when I was driving was so fucking hot. I completely lost control... Could that happen right now? Maybe I should just trust the moment. Yeah.  Ok I'll do it! Fuck, this screen is huge, what if he replies with a dick pic? That'd be unlike him tho, he never jumps right into it. Plus the pic clearly shows where I am. What am I doing? I need to finish this assignment. This is a cute pic though. Ill just post it on Facebook.

It's a Fucking Shark!

I'm at a table somewhere in 2002 with french fries that were dissolving in ketchup and brown gravy, coffee where the cream was separating in psychedelic patterns just below the surface, and Matt is pitching an idea to everybody: he wants to create an online archive of vintage video game music. Everybody is excited except for me, but I keep my mouth shut because I'm at a table of lazy idealists, and there is nothing on my mind that their ex-girlfriends haven't already broke up with them over. I've already started siphoning contempt in my direction by saying that 90% of tattoos are stupid. I only know one of the six people at the table, and statistically I insulted everybody, but they all probably assumed they were part of the 10% with cool tattoos and called it optimism. It doesn't matter though, my lack of enthusiasm is enough to get me called out. Matt says, "You're not on board for this one, are you?" I cannot lie. The subject changes a few times as the night goes on, but inevitably he brings up his brilliant idea again. This time he puts me on the spot. "You're getting a business degree, right? Well isn't it advertising that pays for these websites? Don't you see the opportunity?" He cuts my reply off before any possible meaning could have been gleaned and he continues, "You know what your problem is? You never make a choice. Ideas, you know... they're like picking a girlfriend. You can spend years waiting for what you think is an ideal situation that may never happen or it may not turn out the way you wanted it to. Me, I like to run with whatever I think is a good idea until it fails." Everybody agrees with him as they start talking about people they know who are closed minded like I am, and I decide to take a stand in a way they would possibly relate to. I say "Have you ever looked around you and wondered what other people are thinking? Well I always had the idea that we should consider the opposite." I let that sit for a second to make sure everybody is paying attention. I continue, "I think that the sharpest tool for self-assessment is to imagine the people we care about and even random strangers suddenly had a membership to our library of thoughts." I suggested that we try it right at that moment at this almost empty diner at nearly 4 AM. We sit in silence for a while as we all imagined that people of varying personal significance were browsing our thoughts and memories. I imagine a frenzied entity taking a tour of my memories presented to them in 12 pt Arial font, and my current thoughts over a PA. The entity was drawn to thoughts I considered shameful, but once the two parties met I realized how silly shame is... Everybody began digging up shameful thoughts before they even decided who was sifting through them, then deciding who would be most affected by it. Incidences of petty racism, chunks of inappropriate lust... all revealed to everybody at the table, and anybody else we could summon to mind... they pass through us and take a souvenir before they dissipate. In the end, I am left with equanimity. We break concentration when the check arrives, and I am the only one who feels no need to speak, for though my fries are still untouched, I am not hungry in the least.

Rainbow Unicorn

Immediately before he went to bed, Mark purchased a coupon: $10 for $17 worth of food from groupon.com to this new downtown vegan cafe called The Rainbow Unicorn*. The terms and conditions for the coupon are as convoluted as the relationship he just got out of and therefore a liability if used in the presence of others, but he is determined to use it on a date regardless. See, his ex was as finicky, uptight, and judgmental as they come, so he was trying to find someone more laid back as a rebound. The type who would enjoy a vegan restaurant and wouldn't get bent out of shape if he used a difficult coupon. Imbued with his new purpose to distract him from the pain he'd recently experienced, Mark was kept awake by thoughts of wide-eyed girls with colorful clothing, directionless conversations and laughter, and condition-free sex with no follow-up questions aside from those with no wrong answers. Despite the restlessness, he woke up well before any hippie chick he could imagine would and read up on current events so he would have something to talk about other than heartbreak and consumer electronics.

That morning on the light rail, Mark didn't even need to try maintaining the enlightened glow he was rehearsing that morning in the bathroom mirror, which is for the better because it actually looked more like a self-righteous smirk than anything else. Most men bemoan the way beautiful women only seem to notice them when they are in committed relationships. While this may be true, there are other instances where men appear downright radiant to the opposite sex, and those times are never mentioned because they aren't as much fun to complain about. One example of this radiance is the phase Mark is in right now. Mark is glowing and perfectly content not because of a woman, but because of himself and his joyful anticipation. He experiences bliss almost equal to a sexual release just from taking a deep breath and fixing his posture. It feels like his spine extends and pushes his head up to the ceiling, and when he opens his eyes he meets the relaxed smile of lips so pouty that such a smile should appear forced, and wide sapphire eyes with no discernible ability to close until somehow her eyelids travel down for a blink. There was plenty to be skeptical about between her eyes and her lips, but in that instant Mark only notices her tribal motif and buffet-style simple elegance, and still near the beginning of his exhale he compliments her necklace as though that was his intention all along. He couldn't tell if her necklace was made with bones or petrified wood or lacquered recycled board game pieces, any of those items could find themselves dangling from her extremities or resting on the ramp leading towards her unbound but nonetheless remarkable breasts. Before long, he is missing his stop so he can listen to the brief narratives associated with her personal possessions, all of which seem to have resulted from road trips and personal discovery. The train is at the first traffic light in Tempe when she mentions her beliefs about eating locally and sustainably grown food, and how she volunteers to help out on farms in Wilcox once per month. Just as he was about to run out of clean ways to express his amusement, Mark seizes in on the opportunity. "Speaking of which," he says, "have you heard of The Rainbow Unicorn Cafe?" She shakes her head without expression but without breaking eye contact. He continues with a bright chipperness that betrays a lack of social awareness, "Yeah, it's this new vegan restaurant that only uses locally grown ingredients! Only things that grow in Arizona. It's the Rainbow Unicorn!" Now she clutches her bag and looks at the floor. "Umm, ok. You don't have to be sarcastic." This is not what Mark expected. His frivolity is deflating, but traces of it can still be heard as he says, "I'm sorry, what do you mean?" She continues, "I get it, you're saying 'If you want to find locally grown produce in Arizona, it is like looking for a rainbow or a unicorn'." "No, that's not it at all!" "Well then what did you mean? That I'm just some shallow hippie dippie flower child who collects funky jewelry and goes to places called 'The Rainbow Unicorn'?" Mark tried to explain, "No, The Rainbow Unicorn is a real place, it's a restaurant downtown", but it was of no use. "Don't insult my intelligence," she said. "Nobody would put all the time and effort into opening a restaurant and then blow it all by calling it 'The Rainbow Unicorn'. I give people more credit than that." The train slowed down as she stood up, clearly to leave, but he was still trying to salvage the situation. "I swear, it's a real place! It exists! I don't have any proof of it, but I know it does!" She disembarks without further comment. At least there was one more stop before the end of the line, otherwise he'd have been forced to get off the train and either hang out at the platform, implicitly admitting that he missed his stop just to talk to her, or he could leave the platform and pretend that was his stop and walk briskly across the street like he was going somewhere and then eventually go back to the station once the girl was out of sight. Mark wonders which of those he would have done as he texts his boss to say he is going to be a little late.

Mark boards the next westbound train feeling basically the exact opposite of the sensation from earlier. It is now mid-morning, most of the passengers are either college students or people with undesirable jobs and maybe a few people who were too hung over to wake up on time for their desirable jobs. Mark doesn't want to talk to anybody, so he sits in a corner in order to make sure that he will have at least one unoccupied side to turn towards and take a nap. Just as he starts to find a comfortable day dream, a girl asks the time. She wasn't addressing anybody in particular, but Mark was closest. He read the exact time from his phone, turning his head towards her without looking, and she was elbow-deep in her purse and didn't even acknowledge his answer for at least twenty seconds. He didn't hear her reply at all, but it did sound inarticulate and friendly so after a few seconds, he focused his vision and turned toward her to reply. They had a friendly and inarticulate conversation that seemed to mention a few cartoon characters, the uselessness of certain kitchen items, and a small town off I-40 in Arkansas that they both had a bad experience in. It was like pillow talk, as though they were distracted by the magnitude of something that just drained their energy. Anything seemed acceptable at this point, so Mark asked if she wanted to meet at the Rainbow Unicorn Cafe sometime. She agreed with easy enthusiasm, like accepting a bowl of popcorn. They exchanged numbers as Mark got off at his stop.

Their interactions were so care-free, Mark wondered if the "1-day" rule for calling someone even applied. He debated the issue until a day had gone by anyway, and he asked if she wanted to meet there on Thursday. She said anytime after 5 was ok. He printed his coupon at work using their expensive color printer, and the Rainbow Unicorn emblem looks very high-concept, so he decides to call ahead to reserve a table. When nobody answers, he imagines they must be very busy indeed... though he is a bit confused when a generic recording reads their phone number because they haven't set up their voice mail yet. He leaves a message anyway, and when he shows up at 5 a table is available for him. After fifteen minutes, he sends her a text message to make sure she wasn't lost, but receives no response. Just to occupy himself, he asked the hostess about his coupon and what the terms and conditions mean. It was about 5:30 when he got an answer, and that was when the girl from the light rail arrived and apologized for her lateness as she went behind the counter. She wasn't apologizing to him, but to the hostess. He could have prevented a very awkward moment if he thought before saying, "Wait, you work here?!" She responded, "Oh yeah, I thought you knew that." Then she paused and looked up from the utensils she was wrapping and said, "OH! You wanted to meet here... Ohhhhhh... um, sorry?" Normally, Mark would leave this alone and find answers within his own thoughts, but something snapped in him. "Wait. What about me asking if you want to 'meet at The Rainbow Unicorn Cafe sometime' indicates that I somehow knew you worked here? That doesn't make any sense." She was caught off guard and paused, then said, "Well I thought maybe you saw me here before or something and just wanted to stop by." Marks eyebrows couldn't possibly arch any more inward, but he still tried and said, "But what in anything I said even remotely implied that I knew where you worked?" She looked up at him once again and said, "I guess I don't know. Would you like me to get you anything?" As Mark left with his $5 smoothie, he started to guess at the nature of their easy exchange on the light rail and wanted nothing to do with it anymore. That confrontation made him realize that with personalities, you make trade-offs no differently than you do with consumer goods, career choices, and everything else in the world. He boarded the light rail and ripped up his coupon in dramatic fashion, which meant that he had to clutch the unmanageable remnants of the two-page coupon until he reached his stop. Sitting perfectly still with his elbows resting on his knees and his head resting on his fists scarcely closed around bits of paper featuring a colorful high-concept emblem, he prayed this wouldn't lead to a conversation.



* In case you are reading this and aren't familiar with the Phoenix "metro" area, this place actually exists. While I may also be lightly satirizing the mores of vegan restaurants in general, I am not making up that name to be funny. If I were to use a parody name, I would certainly try to be more clever. This is an actual vegan restaurant/gallery space that is actually called The Rainbow Unicorn.

Why am I Here, And So am I

More math poetry: divisible by two, not by three

OK
Why am I here?
Enduring boring philistines
When I speak my mind some look at me strange
As they tap their fingernails to Bruce Hornsby & the Range
While solvent scent and untuned guitars are my normal cafe fare
They admire $3000 portraits of candles hung on freshly painted walls
How likely am I to find likeminded kinfolk or new friends here
Though why restrict myself by what I think folks like me do
I could find a kindred spirit today
Because I am at this cafe
And so am I
I'll stay

She Worked Hard, Anne Has Scored

Math poem: Odd prime numbers up to 23 syllables and back.

Anne
She worked hard
Strong reputation
And considerable debt
She grew weary of seeing lousy art work
Prominently displayed in cafes, bistros, and bars
With printed bios and price tags an oil exec could appreciate
So she sold out and became a local commodity to be reckoned with
At her peak popularity, she releases some pieces to select venues with menus
Hideous frail free standing mixed media with high center of gravity
Inevitably knocked over by baristas and bartenders
Shops paid for them at her arbitrarily set price
Anne's marketable soul that shatters like ice
Aside from being debt free
In the game of life
Anne has scored
One

Keeping The Past

Larry Chelgerson is a stealth pariah, a mascot for what disillusioned young people can't stand about whatever they see him involved in, though usually they still can't find the words to explain why. Right now he is in line to place a take-away order at one of those urban European-style cafes that are staffed by cute pasty college girls who seem to be given specific instructions to:

1) visit the gym once or twice per week so as to appear active, but not intimidating
2) avoid sunlight
3) think sad or stressful thoughts every now and then so your face's natural resting position is intriguing to those who spend their time in pursuit of the obscure rather than the sincere.

At least one of the servers will have an endearing speech impediment that will attract regulars; regulars being just another word for stalkers who tip. The place is probably owned by three brothers from Bangladesh with mustaches and uneven laughs. The layout is what Bengali business men would imagine Americans think chic cafes in charming European cities look like. Between all the glass, sterility, smooth surfaces, and technology in use, it looks like an Apple store featuring some textured mixed-media art the local community college couldn't find a use for. Larry was peering out towards his car to see if his wife was growing impatient, at which point he saw familiar faces pass through the vestibule. They were too far away, so he looked down at his shoes for 7 seconds and then pretended that he was just noticing them at the moment they walked by and said, "Vern and Tabitha?! No way!" Vern appeared to shift his attention to Larry without moving his head or altering the gestures that were already underway as he was walking. This is a rehearsed move, for in his mind, it was as if he hit an electrified tripwire. "Larry, what's up? I didn't know you knew about this place!" Only older people can allow such condescending sentences like that to pass unnoticed. Vern is a semi-retired real estate agent who has developed the social version of the ESP skip protection that portable CD players had when they weren't obsolete. He has pushed out so many inaccurate self-expressions in his lifetime that there is not one whose meaning can be discerned with any degree of certainty. Whatever expression he tries to make, you naturally meet him halfway and pull out a meaning of your own choice, based entirely on what your feelings about him are. Larry vaguely admires Vern's lifestyle without a sense of envy, so he doesn't catch Vern's reluctance to invite him and his wife to join them for breakfast, accepting the offer without once wondering if he is intruding. As Larry struts out to retrieve his wife, Tabitha gives Vern a look. She can't read Vern's face and tone any better than the rest of the world, but she knows what he is thinking because they tend to have the same thoughts in these situations. That is what happens when you spend enough time appeasing, placating, and enabling the good and bad habits of someone you care about. Sometimes, when Vern isn't sure what to think, he takes his cues from Tabitha's facial broadcast. She doesn't like Larry or any of the other mediocre people who abuse her husband's tendency to regale himself and give advice, not to mention remind himself of how practical it is that he spends all of his time studying real estate. Real estate is the king of all generalized small talk, and unless you are in the business or in the market for a new home, any conversation about it might as well take place under a heat lamp next to a pile of dog waste.

Larry and his wife are two similarly numb people who stumble with great intention through life with a white knuckle grip on a list of what they want to experience and how they want it to feel. To participate in any activity with them feels like being at a school dance when people engage in forced unnecessary conversation just to avoid being seen standing by themselves. Here's one fact that nobody else knows about Larry and his wife, a habit that irritates their offspring: On a pleasant morning, they will wake up extra early to go for a walk, regardless of whether they are actually in the mood to do so. They do it just because the morning is pleasant and they don't want to miss out on it, as though it were a sale at Marshalls. They are basically retired, but they run a small local printing business that just recently got a website where you can pay for your orders online. This is practical not because they are massively successful and need help filling all their orders, but because the same few customers order the same stuff so often that automating the process was a very simple process.

While everybody else has either gotten over ringtones altogether or maybe they have a familiar sound bite from a TV show or movie, Larry has downloaded the same tone for the past three phones. Every time somebody calls him, the dramatic climax of "Nessun Dorma" from the opera Turandot is played on an impossibly tinny midi orchestra. Anyone who has lunch with him on a business day will never again feel that rush of emotion often summoned by that aria. If someone has never heard it, he can sense this fact and will proceed to explain the significance of that scene, thus ruining opera in general for them.

Larry and his wife are basically interviewing Vern while Tabitha criticizes the menu layout in her head. She catches herself wanting to ask Larry and his wife what they would change if they printed out the menus, just to see how they like it. She watches the conversation take familiar turns towards soliciting Vern for recommendations:

-First, some general questions that allow Vern to ramble not necessarily about work -Then Larry mentions the small printing jobs he did for Vern way back in the day, and how great a deal he gave him, just to remind Vern that he's hooked him up before.
-This paves the way for him to ask Vern about retirement properties.

"So Vern, you and Tabitha seem to disappear during the summer and winter months. My wife and I, we've been looking into a vacation home for the unpleasant times of the year now that the kids are, well, safe to say, out of the nest." Vern treats these conversations like sex or a really good time-sensitive dessert such as ice cream on a hot piece of pie, carefully regulating the indulgence for maximum enjoyment. If there is anything Vern likes to do after talking about himself, it is to find ways for other people to be like him and explain those ways in detail. He replies, "Well, where have you looked?" At this point Larry and his wife took turns responding seamlessly: "Well we used to think all we wanted was pleasant weather, nice restaurants, scenery, and to be safe... but as we explored and read and did our research, it seems all the best spots are picked over, expensive, and/or over-developed. Besides, even if a new place is discovered, it isn't long before everyone is all over it, building ugly high-rises and raising the taxes." Vern has been nodding throughout, and continues as he says, "You aren't the only ones with these concerns, and it has lead to a real paradigm shift. Wouldn't it be nice if we could live in the dignity to which we are entitled? Somewhere we have control over the market and the quality of the people? And I don't mean one of those tacky gated communities, either." Larry sighed, "Yeah... but you have to be practical, right?" Vern was waiting for this part. "Well actually, there is a new market that I think you're going to like." Larry played along jadedly, "Where? New Zealand? Hawaii? Costa Rica?" Vern cuts him off, "No chief, all those places are already ruined. I've discovered the only place left for us: the past!" Vern continues, "Whenever life becomes unpleasant, we move into our new vacation home in the past. We already know how everything turns out, so there is no concern about flooding the market or ending up living in a bad neighborhood. We get to visit the lifestyle that the rotten subsequent generations have destroyed whenever we want!"

Larry massaged his left temple as he said, "So let me get this straight: while the lazy, self-centered, unmotivated young generation with no actual sense of collective identity continue to piss away the wonderful world that you and I and our parents spent a lifetime working to preserve, we can live in the past and enjoy happier days of clean decent entertainment, clearly defined gender roles, reasonable social norms regarding race and religion, a more structured courtship process with far less shame and promiscuity, and of course health coverage and a viable retirement?" Vern nodded, "Exactly. Where do you think health insurance and social security came from, anyway? Do you think it is a coincidence that our current system only benefits people our age and older? Psh! As though people had the kind of foresight back then to set things up to punish the disgraceful, mercilessly unsentimental and shallow generations born after 1965." Larry stood up, "So basically, we get to give ourselves a fulfilling life with wholesome Christmas specials and bragging rights about inventing everything that my rude, uneducated, soulless kids take for granted?" Vern replied affirmatively and added, "Of course you can come back and visit your families whenever you want, as we're doing right now. Also, since you really can't talk about the future with anybody in the past, we find it therapeutic to come visit the present day and get all the complaining out of our systems about how terrible everything is and how all these kids fucked it up." Presenting a document, Vern says, "All you have to do is pass this credit check and sign here." Larry said, "Credit check!? I INVENTED credit checks!" All four of them laughed and totally stiffed the waitress as they departed, with Larry's "Nessun Dorma" ringer going off.

Age of Information

Loosely Inspired by "The Sphynx Without A Riddle" by Oscar Wilde.

Ray Betchner is a reasonably attractive person. He does well on standardized tests and only suffers from anxiety and depression when doing so would be charming and interesting. He is as naturally tan as he is successful, and all of his ex-girlfriends try to maintain friendships with him and he allows them to. His taste is so diverse as to include just about any movie, band, activity, and food item available to him.

The other night he inadvertently found the Facebook profile of this beautiful young lady who works at a cafe he frequents. Her name is Jaime, he was able to recognize her solely from her eyes, specifically this soulful glance she gives Ray most days when he takes his order from her and departs. While it hadn't been on his mind that much before finding her profile, now it was all he could think about. She distributes charming bits of conversation that are often the odd coloured pieces that probably form a mosaic of her personality, so reading her interests will give him an edge over other guys (if used properly). He is past the age of knowing better than to try to pick up waitresses, bartenders, hairdressers...
anybody who works for tips. He is also way too young to be desperate enough to forget that fact, but he feels this is an extenuating circumstance since he can create a special encounter with this person based on his knowledge about her.

Finding her profile was a high level of fulfillment to him. She is as exotic as a white girl can look; humbly curvaceous with evenly fair skin, teal eyes that come to immeasureable points. You could probably pick her bare skull out of a line-up after just a few careful glances at her face. Ray never looked that close though, her face and those hips seemed to be the only possible companions of carelessness and indulgence. Her facebook profile confirmed this, but it also added an intriguing depth, a personality that must be full of rampaging philosophy and excitingly distorted and impossible idealism. Alternative medicine, athiesm, anarchy, lofty ambitions, and quotes far outside the scope of her community college drop-out status that she seems completely proud of. All the while she was so composed and careful, so sweet and quaint. He wanted to fuck her. He saw her as a silently neglected towering bonfire and he wanted to throw some of himself into it to see the reaction, he wanted to be a tourist in her frivolity.

He arrives earlier than usual for his morning dosage, to allow room for conversation. He is carrying plenty of unnecessary objects so that in order to find his wallet, he needs to put one of them down on the counter. The first book listed in her profile is "The Truth About Flagrant Uselessness" by Hartley Mangrove, which he tenderly drops onto the counter with an almost gratifying slap, just the right volume to attract her attention. To add extra character, he uses a coffee stir as a book marker, it sticks out a good three inches. Two ace conversation starters staring her down. Her mind must be blown. She looks right at the book and looks into his money as though it were time and says, "Well you're here early!" He doesn't know exactly what to say or where to steer the conversation from there... so he simply reacts. "Wow, I feel flattered that you recognize what time I usually come here." She smiles towards her left boob which is pointing roundly towards the tip jar. "Well, I usually time my first cigarette break right after the rush of people that you usually come in with." Ray is grateful for something that isn't totally pre-recorded. "So you're saying that I drive you to smoke? I better not get sued when you get lung cancer!" Morbid, yes... but so is that book she likes. She laughs and hands him his drink and bids him to have a good day with that glance that he can't get enough of as a line starts to form to his right.

Definitely not a victory, but maybe a seed was planted? He wanted to draw her true colours out by example. he was hinting at a dark side that he kept hidden, hoping that she would reciprocate and confide in him.

This time he goes there for lunch. Like most coffee houses, the non-pastry fare is small portions of pompous deli items on stale "artisan" bread with sauce placated to believe that it is more than mustard with mayonaise. Jaime offered a surpised pleasantry as he waked in, and since like most pleasantries it required an equally sincere response, he cringed as he explained that he always wanted to go there for lunch since the menu items looked so interesting. He is trying to find some way to inject random normal statements with recreational dissonance, just to get onto her personal side. He orders and takes a seat just within "conversation possible" distance and just outside of "why is he sitting right by me without having something specific to talk about" distance from her. When his food arrives, he takes a few bites and 7 seconds after completing mastication asks her about any local shows, hoping she would mention a band from her profile in the mix. After several bands he hadn't seen, he jumps on one and gives an engineered explanation of why he likes them. "I love the Filthy Scott Farkus Sheets. They got me through a bad breakup years ago. They remind me to change the little annoying crap in my life." "I know what you mean", she says, "They are very hopeful and yet always sould like they are on the verge of chaos. I have to be in the mood for them though." Ray's feet were curled under themselves as he asked if she was going to the show. She continues looking at the floor and then at the register and says she possibly would see him there. He starts pushing the conversation towards phone numbers, but she rips off a sheet of paper with her Facebook on it before he can get that far. He immediately notices that the last name doesn't match the one he found! He pays and exits with an anchorman smile and, leaning against the brick wall in the alley goes online. It was an entirely different person whose profile he saw. He looked at he real profile... she has no alter ego aside from that of a hard working, unpretentious girl working through grad school. Knowing this and seeing her mysterious beauty makes him want her even more. She is exactly what he would actually want to be with. She is stable and in control of her life, open minded, and physically turns him on in obvious ways and oblique ways he will never forget or fully understand.

The he remembers, what about the other Jaime? How did he confuse the two? How could two people have that stare? He finds Internet Jaime's page and stares at those eyes. They are slightly different, but they do have something in common with Cafe Jaime. Internet Jaime isn't giving an emotive, soulful stare. She is fronting a meaningful stare into a camera, trying to broadcast a temporary amiable look, trying to hide a feeling of disconnect or annoyance while she moves on. So was Cafe Jaime, every time someone paid and left. Sadly he knows he could have maybe gotten along well with her, but there is now way he can retract the needy, angstly, ego-troubled and conflicted image of himself he flashed her with. Ray will not go to the Filthy Scott Farkus Sheets show and he will not visit the cafe anymore.