The Purple Tux
With just enough education to perform.Friday, August 26, 2005
Small Victories
She was working the night shift at the coffee shop in Borders. I don't drink coffee at all. I sat down at a table in the coffee area of the store, listening to some Dilated Peoples on my headphones, reading a book.
The book was a little boring. My attention constantly wandered. Often, it would drift towards the coffee counter, where she was working. Blonde hair. Tied back into an efficient but attractive bun. A slim but busty figure. Her cheeks were flush as she helped a customer. Even from a distance, from where I was sitting at my table, I couldn’t help but notice the fascinating crinkle at the edges of her mouth as she smiled at her coworker, the both of them enjoying a private joke. Straight, pearly teeth. Even from a distance, from where I was sitting at my table, I couldn’t help but notice.
More and more, I found myself sneaking furtive glances at this lovely young lady. The gentle wrinkles around her eyes whenever she smiled. The dignified posture as she curved her back to reach for something behind the counter. The full, pouty lower lip that demanded to be worshipped. The delicate blue light that shone from her eyes. Her eyes, which never once glanced in my direction.
Sure, I thought about going up to the counter. I thought about putting down my book. Turning off my portable CD player. Putting all my baggage into my backpack. I thought about quickly running into the bathroom and checking my appearance in the mirror. I thought about swallowing a breath mint. I thought about a lot of things. Sometimes I think I even think too much.
The curvature of her feminine shoulder as she reached over to wipe down the counter after a little spilled coffee. Nails that were nice and long, but not too long, with some gentle red nail polish. Fingers that were slender and inviting. And a hand that begged to be held by another.
Paralyzed with fear, I held my book in front of myself. My music kept on playing but eventually I ignored it in favor of straining my ears to hear her voice. I was on the edge of my seat. Every cordial phrase she spoke to a customer was more sweeping to me than a Sigur Ros b-side. I was hinged on her melodic voice, which embodied all the best qualities of a woman.
I wondered what it would be like to go up to the counter and talk to her. To hear her ask me how she could help me. Yeah, I think we know the answer to that one. I wondered how I could say something disarmingly sweet to charm her. I wondered if I could keep a straight face. I wondered if I had my dignity. What was dignity compared to the favor of a goddess? But I don't drink coffee.
The great debate raged on in my mind. It was loud and gave me a headache. When I recovered, she was still there. Waiting for me. She didn't know it, but she was waiting for me. But I don't drink coffee.
She's still waiting for me today, somewhere.
I left Borders then, that fine, warm, and breezy Davis night. I hadn't the courage to approach my darling. Nothing good happened to me that night. I'm willing to bet that for her, everything was just great. I missed the boat again. It wasn't the first time and it won’t be the last. But thank God for small victories. I've succeeded at one thing.
After all, I just wrote a little story and you wasted a minute or two of your day reading it.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
A Violent Line
I was biking home the other week with my buddy Sheynis. (Click here to read his livejournal.) One of the nice things about good old Davis is that there are plenty of bike lanes so that bikers won't have to worry too much about drivers encroaching on their zone of protection. Of course, it's rather foolish to assume that as long as you're in the bike lane, you're safe, because there's always a chance that some inconsiderate driver will cut you off at a corner or something. And you know me, I see no purpose in taking unnecessary chances, so I always pay attention when I bike. Call it the Prep-Time in me. I think Sheynis would agree, too. We take no chances when our lives are on the line.
On this particular evening, the sun had mostly set. It was starting to get dark, and most cars had turned on their headlights. Sheynis and I had our bike lights out, too, to allow drivers to see us more easily. We were heading back to my place to engage in heterosexual activities, and we were biking at a leisurely pace, for the night was young and so were we.
We biked down Richards Boulevard as it turned into Cowell Boulevard, and we neared my apartment. I was in the lead. Whenever I bike and reach the end of a street, I'll check over my shoulder to make sure there aren't any overzealous drivers trying to turn the corner. It's very, very annoying to me when I am nearing a corner, about to proceed across the street, and some Davis jerk in a car thinks he can beat me, and speeds up and cuts me off. It's hugely inconsiderate and even dangerous for me. This has happened to me a couple times in the past and I was grossly offended each time.
That night, of course, what else could happen but an encounter with an inconsiderate Davis driver?
As we approached the intersection of Cowell and Valdora, right across the street from Safeway and Office Max, I checked behind my shoulder. I saw Sheynis keeping pace behind me. I also saw a white 4Runner coming up behind us and to the left. The car was moving pretty fast, and I could tell it was trying to catch up and pass us so it could turn the corner without waiting for us to go first. The car hugged the bike lane, and soon it pulled up right next to me, so close that I could have touched it with my left hand.
"Shit," said Sheynis as the car pulled up to us. "This asshole's gotta learn how to drive!"
"Yeah." I was trying to judge the distance and see whether or not the car would let us go first. I threw a glance at the 4Runner. The driver was a hefty-sized blonde woman. She looked to be at least around her late twenties or early thirties, because a young girl was in the passenger's seat. The little girl blinked at me as I looked over at them. The mother didn't even give me any acknowledgement.
However, the 4Runner did slow down when we were just six or seven meters away from the corner. I figured this meant that she was letting us go first.
Quickly turning my neck so Sheynis could hear my words, I said, "I think we can go." I heard him give his acknowledgement, and we sped up slightly.
Suddenly, right when we got to the corner, the 4Runner sped up, pulled past us, cut us off, and turned the corner! Fortunately, I was keeping a close eye on the driver, so this wasn't completely unexpected. In the moments before the 4Runner cut us off, I looked at the driver. She seemed nervous and glanced at us a couple of times, but the wench still decided to do it. If I hadn't braked, I would have been hit and I most likely would have sustained a serious injury! In fact, she was so close to me as she cut me off that I managed to spit (out of reflexive vindictiveness) straight in front of me and my spit landed right on the passenger's side window.
That was probably the closest I'd been to death in a couple of years. I don't know if you've experienced similar moments of near-death, but whenever I have an unpleasant surprise like that, I always holler the first thing that comes to mind.
"Fuck! Shit!" I yelled as I slammed on the brakes. I heard rubber squeal as Sheynis braked, and he wound up right next to me.
"God fucking dammit! He cut us off!" Sheynis cried out as he caught his breath. We both watched as the SUV drove down the street. Interestingly enough, it slowed down a bit, as though it were in hesitation.
"It wasn't a guy, it was some bitch who doesn't know how to drive properly," I answered. "But don't worry. I managed to spit on the car as she cut us off." At that, I chuckled.
Sheynis responded with a hearty laugh of his own. "Yeah, that's what she derserves. You know what would be awesome? We should go chase her down and kick her car!" He laughed some more, and I laughed, too.
At this point, my adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I was feeling the familiar sense of churning in my stomach that I felt every time I felt like I was about to get into a fight.
Sheynis might have been speaking half-jestfully, but I decided to take him seriously.
"C'mon!" I growled, as I turned the corner and pedaled at full speed, attempting to catch up to the car. I think Sheynis might have said, "Okay" or something, but I wasn't sure if I heard him or not.
After a few seconds, we noticed that the car was actually pulling over to the side of the road. Interesting, I thought. A confrontation is at hand.
When we were about 25 meters away, the woman got out of the car and looked at us. She looked pretty mad. She shouted some expletives at us when she should have apologized.
"What the hell's your problem, lady! You cut us off! You gotta learn how to freakin' drive!" I yelled at her.
"I'm gonna call the cops, you little shits! You can't go around spitting on my daughter like that! I'm gonna sue your asses!" Clearly, the woman was hysterical.
It took me a few seconds to realize that when I had spit, the passenger side window must have been rolled down. Ordinarily, I would have felt guilty, but this woman was pissing me off with her attitude.
I shook my head in anger and disbelief over her attitude. I was at a loss for words and I was losing my cool. Stepping off my bike, I walked it over to the sidewalk where it would be out of the way. Sheynis did the same. The whole time, the woman was threatening to sue us and all that garbage.
The two of us ignored her for the time being. Instead, we had a short conversation with each other.
"Well?" I asked, still not thinking clearly due to the adrenaline rush.
Fortunately, Sheynis seemed to be his usual aloof self. "I still say we should kick her car a few times," he said.
"Sounds good. Let's do it."
We walked over to the rear of the 4Runner and kicked it a few times. Sheynis laughed, but I was too pissed and too nervous to laugh outright. I knew what I was doing would look bad on my character.
I was just too fucking mad to care.
"The fuck do you think you're doing?!" the woman screamed. "Get off my car, get off it right now!"
Sheynis laughed even harder. His laughter was infectious. I found myself laughing, too, even though I wasn't smiling and I wasn't feeling in a humorous mood at all.
"You cut us off. We're just giving you what you deserve, you stupid woman," Sheynis said between kicks.
The woman ignored him and lunged for me, grabbing me from the side. That was it. Physical contact. She crossed the line. I tried to shake her off, and when it looked like it wasn't going to work, I elbowed her ribs twice. She staggered back in some pain, and her breathing was heavy.
"Asshole, the police are coming! We're going to court!" She was pathetic. Then she did something stupid and took a swing at Sheynis, connecting with his right shoulder.
Sheynis didn't take too kindly to this, so he kicked her in the shin as he called her a bitch.
By this time, the woman's daughter had stepped out of the car, obviously scared of what was going down. She was an innocent looking girl with blonde hair. She was wearing a simple blue blouse. She looked to be around perhaps eight or nine years old. It was obvious that she'd been crying because her eyes were red and watery. Also, part of her face was wet, although I couldn't be sure if it was wet due to her tears or due to the fact that I inadvertently spat on her.
"Stop it! Leave my mom alone! Stop it! Stop!" she cried, as her mother and Sheynis engaged in a little bit of fisticuffs. She ran towards them. Why, I have no idea, because it's not like she could have done anything. On a whim, I slapped her face as she passed me. For some reason, she fell flat on her butt and began to cry.
Her mother heard her crying and rushed over to her, cursing Sheynis and me as she did so. She also took a swing at me, but I dodged it and tripped her instead. Mother and daughter, both on the floor, both hysterical, both pathetic.
Sheynis walked back over to the SUV and kicked it again for good measure. "God," he said, "fucking females should know their place in the world. I mean, shit."
I started to calm down a bit and I walked back to our bikes. "Let's go, man. This is over."
As we got on our bikes and rode away, Sheynis took a moment to look back and call out, "Toodles, bitch! I hope you go back to driving school and crash into a brick wall!"
The night was still young.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
She Could Have Been The One
A few days ago, our phone rang. Occasionally, I'll answer our apartment phone if I have nothing going on. No one ever really calls us at our number, unless it's a telemarketer or a wrong number. Everyone in our household has his own cellphone for personal and work-related calls.
On Thursday, the phone rang as I was leaving the house. Ordinarily, I would have ignored it and simply proceeded with the rest of my life, but for some reason, I decided to answer it. And, sure enough, the person on the other line had dialed a wrong number.
"Hello," I answered as I picked up the phone.
"Hello," came a female voice on the other line. "Is Matthew Henry Renolds [I just invented this name on the spot because I cannot recall the name of the person she actually said] available?"
Now, I have never, ever heard of this Matthew Henry Renolds person. In addition, I did not recognize her voice. It was a nice voice, though, I thought. She sounded like she was very pretty. Her voice was pretty. I thought about telling her that I thought she had a pretty voice.
Instead, I said, "Uh, sorry, but I think you have the wrong number."
I expected that to be that. Usually, when I tell someone he or she has dialed the wrong number, the person will hang up immediately. At best, I might receive a curt, "Thanks," or perhaps even a "Sorry" before I hear the click on the other end of the line.
This woman, though, had some nice and proper manners. She sounded sincerely apologetic and said, "Oh, I'm very sorry. I apologize for disturbing you. Thank you. Sorry."
In the moments before she hung up, my mind raced. She sounds so cool, a little voice inside my mind screamed. You should say something before she hangs up forever!!!
So I said, in my most confident and collected tone of voice, "Oh, don't be sorry. You have a very pretty voice."
I really expected her to laugh. I really did. Because she couldn't see me, I allowed myself to cringe as I braced for an embarrassing backlash of feelings of idiocy. But she didn't. She didn't laugh.
She said, after perhaps only a moment's hesitation (who can tell in those times when your heart is racing?), "Why, thank you, thank you very much."
She then said goodbye as our all too brief conversation came to an untimely demise.
"Bye," I said. As an afterthought, I added, "Have a good day." She still didn't hang up.
She actually replied, "Thanks" again and said, "I hope you have a good day, too. Goodbye." And then she hung up, but her beautifully feminine voice continued to reverberate throughout my mind for hours and hours.
Just a few minutes after this wonderful incident, I told my roommate Sam what had happened. I told him that a pretty female had called our house, and he was suitably impressed, if a bit skeptical. Now, I'm of the school of thought that believes you can tell how pretty a girl is by just her voice. Pretty people have pretty voices. It's just a fact of life. I guess this isn't something Sam spends much time thinking about, because he wasn't too sure until I convinced him with my superior logic (which basically amounted to me challenging him to name a pretty person we know who DOESN'T have a pretty voice- a challenge he was forced to concede).
After that, I didn't tell anyone else about this incident, except for perhaps Champ when I spoke with him on the phone (he also has a very pretty voice). But this woman has been in the back of my mind for days now. I have no idea what she looks like. I only know that I wish I had said more. Anything. I don't know. Anything to hear her voice speak some soft words to me.
I know I'll never meet this woman. Chances are, even if I hear her voice again, I won't recognize her. Her voice has been elevated in my mind into an ideal status of ethereal grandiosity that cannot be matched by any mortal babes. It's disappointing. If only I had said more.
She might have been the one.
Of course, there's always the chance that she could be a 35 year old mother of two children. Who knows? But isn't there that old saying about how we always think of what could have been? "The saddest are what could have been." Or something like that.
Yeah. You always think about the one that got away.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
[Another cheap poem.]
Flash Video
High technology is meant to set us free
These new devices settle our debts
While we forget what we’re meant to deposit
Only regret exits the closet
Sleek cars fast computers
No more cassettes, just laser technology
It really, really has happened
Blips and flickers are acknowledgement
Another day in the countryside is not a bona fide success
It’s just another sacrifice
They flash images that taint my soul
But I need to feel connected
Unfashionably numb but video makes me whole
Did we build for the future or did we carve our coffins?
So why do lepers still beg on the street?
They aren’t the people we’d be pleased to meet
No more rotaries, just cell phones
It really, really has happened
Please call me when I really need to hear your voice
I fall back into it and I know it’s my choice
All I want is another chance
Xboxes and e-stocks
E-texts, e-bows, everything is e-something
What I need is e-ject
Even if we lived underground there would still be
Drunken versions of electronic chopping blocks
Hi-res and hi-fi
Perfidy is confused with my own stupidity
It really, really has happened
Addiction’s mistaken for subjugation
What does it take to set our souls free?
They say video killed the radio star
Right now it’s killing me
