NEEDLING

There was a real cutie pie walked into the store today. She wasn’t dressed up or nothing fancy. Just wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt. No makeup, hair all astray. Not too tall, probably no more than 5’6’’ if that, petite, dirty blond. I liked her right away. She was friendly, relaxed, and knew what she wanted. Humble confidence is an attractive trait. I’m starting to get tired of these needy housewives with fake everything, two inches of makeup, who smell like the latest overpriced perfume, who wear the trendiest faux-relax overpriced get-up, and who demand, demand, and demand some more. This girl was looking like a normal human being, and she was real pretty on top of it all. I couldn’t help myself checking her out while she wasn’t looking. Nothing fake. Nothing underneath the t-shit except what god—or whatever—blessed her with. She came up to the counter with a half gallon of Evan Williams bourbon whiskey. There’s something attractive about a tiny little woman with a big ol’ jug of cheap whiskey … (that’s the white-trash in me coming out.)

“Is that gonna do it for you?”
“Sure is.”
“Are you twenty one years old or over?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have an I.D.?”
“I do.”

She struggled trying to pull her driver’s license out of her wallet. I almost told her not to worry about it, but I wanted to keep her at the counter as long as possible so I kept my mouth shut, trying not to gawk too much, though being that she was fumbling with her wallet, she was looking down, and not paying attention to me.

I contemplated what I should say … and there was nothing. My mind was blank. Damn me!

Right as she took the license out, I said, “Don’t worry about it.”

The license was out, and she handed it to me.

24 years old. I looked, though afraid to take too long. I wouldn’t want her to think I was memorizing any information. I wasn’t. I handed it back to her as soon as I had identified that the picture was definitely her, that the date proved her age, and that the license looked to my knowledge to be valid … all this taking less than a second. I have lots of practice.

“It’s a beautiful day, you gonna enjoy it?” I said feeling sheepish.

When there’s nothing else to say, the weather’s always a good place to start. 85 degrees today … perfect hanging out day. And she seemed like she was open for small meaningless talk.

“Yeah … I’m hanging out by the swimming pool.”
“Lucky you.”
“It’s been a long time, I just put in my two weeks.”
“You quitting your job?”
“Yeah … it’s awesome. I’m going back to school.”
“What’re you studying?”
“Graphic design.”
“Really!”
“Yeah.”
“That’s cool. I never finished school, and look where I’m at, a clerk in a liquor store.”
“I’ll probably be going back to retail myself.”
“It’s not so bad, really. Selling wine and liquor is fun, actually. What kind of job are you quitting?”
“High pressure sales job in an office building. Too much. I just didn’t have a life, you know. I want to do my own thing.”
“I know what you mean. Actually, I’m going back to school myself.”
“Really!”
“Yeah.”
“What are you studying?”
“Screenwriting … you know, film and all.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah … I’m only taking one class at a time, though, that’s all I can do with a full time job and all.”
“I’m going to start with just two classes, I’m not sure how I’m going to manage it, yet.”
“Where’ll you be going?”
“Actually, I’ll be taking classes online.”
“Ain’t there a bunch of fraudulent places out there?”
“Well, I’m going to a real university, and I’ll earn a real degree.”
“…”
“It’ll just be done online.”
“That’s cool.”

And that was it. An abrupt ending. I didn’t know where to go from there. We’d finished the money transaction, and there was nothing else to say. I’m stupid that way … never know what the hell else to say, and also the fact that she’s buying something from me, and that that isn’t really the place … so I just shut up and smiled. I thought to myself: Maybe she’ll become a regular, but then I counter-thought: Do I really want her to become a regular on half gallons of Evan at 24? Not really … maybe I can turn her on to some good wine …

“Good luck with everything,” I said.
“You too,” she said, and she walked out.
I watched her walking to her car, a large grey Pathfinder looking vehicle.

(pathetic, I know … I can’t help it … maybe when I’ll be in Paris next week, the entries—if I have time for them—will be more interesting)