"Freak", I whisper to Ryan.
"I know! What'chu lookin’ at punk?"
There's this guy sitting in front of us at some lecture that's about…the law probably. He keeps looking over his shoulder as if he's looking for somebody, but we were on the last row… And to make matters worse, ugly weird guy starts hitting on cute, pretty girl sitting a seat away. Dude is wearing a shirt made out of fabric I don’t even know what it’s called, but the last person I saw wearing that, is my dead grandpa. And not even he was caught dead in it. Now I don’t really care about other people’s clothes, but dude looks rough and dirty.
"Is he seriously trying to share his books with her," I ask.
"Aaah, it's the oldest trick in the book." Ryan sighs. "No pun intended."
"Yeah, we all know how many times that got you laid…”.
Pretty girl didn't decline but she also didn't want to do him right then and there either. Amateur. She was nonchalant about it but strangely enough not disgusted or anything. Ugly weird guy keeps staring at her and trying to make eye contact. Last I checked we were at a lecture. People are either sleeping, getting high (it happened), looking stoned out the window (happens a lot) or jerking off (that was once). Searching for eye contact is useless. And besides, why would anybody be looking at him…except for us.
Sad as this whole situation is, he then proceeded to write her a note…on a ripped piece of paper. I ain't shitting you.
"You have got to be kidding me. A note? Where the hell am I, seventh grade?" I whisper perhaps a bit too loud. Damn my parents for giving me this amazingly deep and manly voice.
"You wrote notes...to girls...in seventh grade?"
"I might have. I also used to like little girls back then - and I don't mean that in a way that's as gross as it actually sounds."
"Is he - is he asking her out?" I ask with utter disbelief.
"Yeah," Ryan responds while trying to read the tiny note that passed hands, "it says something like ‘would it be cool if…’”.
"…we got together and bumped uglies? Literally in his case. What the fuck, she's actually writing him back. Didn't she take her meds this morning? She'd better telling him to take a fucking hike. What'd she write?"
God, I’m so into other people’s shit. Probably because my own life is so very unsatisfying. Well, that’s what my shrink keeps telling me.
"She says sure." Ryan says a little bit annoyed.
"Am not. And I don’t give a shit really."
"Okay, do you not find this human interaction at all interesting?”
“…anyway, mutey. She could do so much better. Doesn't she have any self esteem? I mean, I'd do her. And I dont't even like the kitty cats."
"Maybe she's just not shallow." Ryan says in such a manner as if I'm supposed to know it’s the smartest thing to ever come from a person’s mouth.
"Or – maybe she's just an idiot. And I resent that you're implying I'm shallow."
"You are shallow."
"Well, tell it behind my back like everyone else does."
"Look," Ryan says, "They're exchanging e-mail addresses. you're right, this shit's more intriguing than an Agatha Christie novel..."
"E-mail is for geeks and pedophiles."
"We use email."
"Yeah...for college and shit."
"And it's not like I go up to guy and ask for his e-mail address on a note to get into his pants", I say. People turn their heads. I seriously need to not speak so loud. I'm sure it could get embarassing at some point. "E-mail? What the fuck is up with that?"
"Well duh, it's different for you homos".
"You guys just do it."
Thursday, October 12, 2006
"Freak", I whisper to Ryan.