I think it was last week sometime that they held a few interviews at work in the lobby. Two of the girls, who’s faces I never saw that day, registered as potentially attractive, and one almost looked like Kara. The other, taller and skinnier, looked appealing as well.
I came in at some point thereafter and saw a girl being trained on back booth. I,immedeately recognized her as the aforementioned taller and skinnier girl. As I was collecting trash just after clocking in, I said hello to her quite blatantly and directly as I also said hello to her trainer. She looked at me directly in the eyes. Attractive eyes. I warned myself not to get too excited, as for all I know she may not be age-appropriate. Until I saw her later, without the mask, I didn’t realize she was older — which is to say around my age, even older than me.
For awhile that day, being the pervert I am, I occasionally looked her way, studying her like a goddamned creeper. The pigtails were cute and she had this curious habit of placing one hand behind her back. She had a cute butt, too; the kind that plumps out and down and under a bit at the bottom of the bottom, as if chiseled in such a way that instinctively inspires the hand to grab it.
And no, I did not, would not, as I am not that bold. Even if I was, I am too aware that this post-#metoo culture is not at all forgiving in this area.
And it is, after all, not my booty. If it were, I would not have developed the habit of simply putting one hand behind my back, but positioning that hand lower, below the base of my spine, where it would grip my own cheeks as a default mode.
Yes, I have problems.
It was Christmas Eve, and we were busy as hell, and when I knew I had to go passed the area of the back drive-thru booth, were she was being trained, I made an effort to say something to her in the hopes that it would open the lines of communication between us.
“You picked a hell of a day to start working here,” is what I went with, and we exchanged some friendly words, so it appeared to have worked.
I then did whatever it was I had to do or got whatever it was that I needed and had to go passed that area again. In doing so, I inadvertently brushed against one of the women training her. This was an elderly, obsese woman who I don’t know too well, though we’ve exchanged friendly words and she’s spilled to me more than once. I felt bad about it, so was quick to apologize.
“Sorry if I brushed passed you,” I said.
“That’s okay, I liked it,” she responded in what I took to be an only half-joking manner.
“All right,” I said in intentionally-exaggerated enthusiasm as I exited the area, “now we’re talkin’.” Laughter from her and the rest ensued.
For the rest of the day, there was murmerung, glances in my direction when I went by back booth. I felt the vibe of attention. Something secret, covert. Good, bad: I couldn’t tell. When I looked to see if anyone was looking at me from that area or attempted to subject the new girl to further analysis, I always found the big lady looking my way.
My sudden fear, from out of nowhere, was that the big lady took that as me flirting with her, that maybe I had misread the situation and had sent her the wrong signals given what I said. As a consequence, I avoided that area until I realized I was avoiding it out of fear of being awkward, which was itself making me feel awkward, so I faced that fear by deliberately walking passed them again — this time, making certain there was a clear, unobstructed path of entry and exit.
Sometime thereafter, I snuck out the back door in the stock room, crouched down against the wall, and lit a cigarette. In the process, I saw the side door to lobby open and the new girl step out. I didn’t want to overdo it by calling her out or approaching her, and anyway, I was feeling rather anxious at the moment. Best to avoid looking in that direction and pretend I didn’t notice her.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her approaching my direction, and she said hey. Her mask was around her chin, but I can’t remember if she was smoking. In any case, I stood up and we began talking.
In the midst of our conversation, I learned that she has kids and had formerly worked at Gabes. She had to quit when her and her boyfriend didn’t work out, so she moved back in with her brother in town and picked up the job here. She had worked here before, she told me — 2016, she thinks — but she can’t remember how she left, which is to say if she put in her two weeks or walked out. At least, that was the story she was going with, but I sensed that she did indeed remember, and she knows she had walked out. Admitting that may gave prevented her from getting hired, that’s all. In the effort to make her feel better, assuming I was right, I told her I had essentially walked out of every job I’d ever had before managing to stay at this place for over a decade and a half.
At end of night, she came up to me and said she thought she remembered me from last time she worked here. She explained she had worked mornings doing prep, clearly trying to trigger some recollection, and I felt bad that I didn’t remember her. She seemed very happy, almost excited to be talking with me, and made some references to things that she said she’d tell me about some other time.
Maybe that vibe I’d felt earlier on in the day wasn’t from the big lady after all.
Even so, I’m not jumping to conclusions here. For some reason, people seem to enjoy talking to me, trusting me with things they have told few others, perhaps no one else at all — and this has happened with total strangers, too. I used to joke that I was a walking confessional with a pulse. People also tend to remember me when I can’t recall meeting them at all, despite having been told more than once that I have a fairly good memory. So I’m well aware that just because an attractive girl remembers me and likes talking with me does not mean she has any sexual or romantic interest in me.
Even if she does, I don’t know the girl yet. Maybe I’ll find I’m not interested in her, or that she’s not interested in me. So there’s no certainty here, just like everywhere else in my life. And I have no interest in setting myself up for another epic letdown.
Chronicles of a Madman. 