So Last Night I Was At This Coffee Shop....

Some guys have it...
 

If I had time to write, for real, I might consider starting a new blog named "Weirdness Amongst the Humans." Because no matter where I go or what I do, odd things happen when I'm out among the non-equals. If its not weirdoes in Alexandria, La coming up to me in locker rooms asking me if I'm a preacher, or weirdoes asking me if I'm Charlie Sheen, or weirdoes getting married by a ventriloquist with a Richard Nixon dummy, I just can't seem to shake the weirdness.

Like last night, for example.

Background: I've been basically dying a slow stress-related death these past few weeks managing a huge Public Utility Commission case. We've been taking a lot of shots, as it were, and I've been finding it hard to sleep, to eat, to exercise. Stress has basically captured my body like some Invasion of the Body Snatchers pod creature, slowly turning me inside out. Not fun.

Today was the big hearing. It went just fine, natch.

But last night, I was preparing late into the night. I went to my top secret hangout (top secret so that I can keep a hangout where I can work away from everyone). Of course, I was lost in thought and had about a thousand binders and stacks of paper in front of me, feverishly working away while thoughts of professional ruin if I blew this hearing consumed me. In other words, a normal Thursday night.

From out of nowhere, a very attractive, young (early 20s), tall, brunette woman walked right up to me and asked if I was busy. No, really. Seriously.

Let's stop right here.

This won't be THAT kind of story. Unfortunately. Which is kind of the point.

Anyway, I told her "well, yes kind of, but what's up?"

She had a kind of anguished look on her face and started stammering out "do you mind if I ask you a question?" I told her no, of course not. She introduced herself as "Victoria" and I asked her to sit down, which she did. Sensing she was very uncomfortable about something, I asked her what was the matter.

To which she replied, "well, um, so...how do you talk to guys?"

For years now, I've wondered when I'd reach that age where women like this go from regarding me as some sort of potentially eligible man that they should either guard against or try to attract, to being that kindly, non-threatening little old man whose presence raises not the slightest hint of a threat. Or prospect. In that split second, I realized I'd finally crossed that threshold of decrepitude. Lovely.

I told her "I'm sorry, I'm not sure I know what you mean. 'Talk to guys'...how?"

She explained that there was some really cute guy out in the courtyard...blah, blah, blah...at that point my mind began to wander. Still she droned on.  "My heart is beating so fast....," "what do I say?" "what would he think?"

Lady, honestly, he'd probably wonder why you were talking to the geezer at the other table just a couple of minutes before.

Other thoughts raced through my mind. Aren't you a millennial? Don't you kids do this stuff ALL THE TIME? Why don't women come up to me, except for pointers on how to score some hot coffee guy action with someone not named Chris Reeder? How exactly do you talk to men? And while we're at it, what is it about me that screams out "excels in picking up men at coffee shops"?

Really, two possibilities reasonably explained this. One was that I look like a kind, old, trustworthy, friendly, non-threatening guy, who might really know the mythological key to snagging eligible bachelors that seems to elude 20s women everywhere. Damn, if I were around and willing to help, Sex In the City would never have happened. I'd have gotten them all hooked up before Episode 1. But, wizened and haggard. Past my prime. No longer in the game but able to share Obi Wan-like inner secrets to help the next generation along.

Or, I look like "Guy On the Make," who would know all about how a woman should scam on some guy. The Daddy Mack of that after-10-on-a-weeknight coffee shop set.

Or maybe somewhere in between.

So, letting the better angels of my nature hold sway, I counseled Victoria. "Well, the best thing to say is 'Hi, I'm Victoria, how are you?'" Or failing that, she could ask him if he was enjoying the night, or what he was drinking. She could remark on what he was wearing. Or, if worse came to worse, she could just look at him and smile, and maybe prompt him to approach her. I reminded her that she was able to start talking to me out of the blue, so surely she could do it with the mouth breather making her heart go pitter pat.

Of course, she wasn't nervous talking to me, because, I'm 150 years old and of no conceivable interest to her whatsoever.

Give me credit for not telling her to take off her underwear, walk up to him and hand them to him. I told you, its not THAT kind of story. Or a fraternity party.

So, buoyed with Chris' Dating Tips, she headed out to the courtyard, looking for love in all the wrong places.

Later that night, I walked outside to try to see whether Victoria had made a Love Connection. I didn't find her. Maybe she'd blown it off. Maybe the guy wasn't interested. Maybe they went somewhere else to get to know each other better. And maybe even now, they're on Hour 24 of the most romantic, meet cute of all time.

Or maybe she was a total nut job.

Whatever happened, it remains Victoria's secret. (Sorry about that, it's late. I'm old). 

Can I please just get my work done and not have to deal with all this nonsense from now on?

Please resume your normal activities.