Unclassifiable? (Is that even a word?)

Marketing people are always spouting off about how they can classify consumers according to what they buy and consume. Even Fugazi referenced this prospect once (“Never mind what’s been selling, it’s what your buying!”) This is common knowledge in the marketing/pr field, but today I think I might’ve made myself unclassifiable as a consumer. Here is the sum total of my purchases for today:

1 original framed needlepoint wall hanging that reads ‘The Rat Race Is Over and The Rats Have Won’ (used and found at the Salvation Army)

1 new jump rope from the dollar store (I actually broke my last one being sloppy, but that’s another story….)

1 package of Ant Poison (also from the dollar store)

1 Boy Scouts of America ‘Tiger Cub’ t-shirt (also used and found at the Salvation Army)

1 crispy Sesame Veggie Chicken and Beef entree (from Veggie Heaven in NJ)

What does this make me? Someone with an ant problem that’s given up on the world and wants something to remind them of that for their wall? Someone that doesn’t mind wearing used t-shirts from an organization that frowns against individuality but can teach you how to tie a lot of knots? Or someone that most likely doesn’t eat meat and also likes jumping rope? I guess I’m all that and a lot more.
Still, it makes me realize that if you list out your purchases for say, one week’s time, your perception of yourself as a consumer will probably differ drastically from your perception of yourself as a person.
And this leads to a much bigger question concerning capitalism. Does it help one connect more directly to an identity, or does it detract or complicate from one’s identity? If you’re into, say, Rage Against the Machine and riding Element Skateboards, and you make a point to go shopping for products from both camps on one particular day, and succeed, then you do connect more with the identity you seek. But if you’re into Rage Against the Machine and Element Skateboards, but do not choose to seek out products from both camps on one day, and instead go to the Salvation Army, the dollar store and Veggie Heaven in Parsippany, NJ, you probably are detracting and complicating the identity you seek to establish (even if it is only to the eyes of economists and marketing gurus that are studying what you buy.)
See what I’m saying? We’re constantly being defined by what we buy, so people can understand us and sell us more stuff. It’s a complicated cycle that ultimately involves a good deal of psychology, and I don’t want to be a part of it. I’d rather be the confusing 0.001% that doesn’t make any sense on paper…

By the way, I am not a fan of Rage Against the Machine. I’m glad they opened up debate on a lot of serious topics to a generation of morons, but I still think their music sucks. And Element, well, it’s a piece of wood with someone from MTV’s name on it. Do I really need to explain why it’s just an example and not an obsession to me? Good then…


Bob: “Here’s what you need to do. Have you ever been on the Craigslist website?”

Tim: “Briefly, why?”

Bob: “Have you ever been on the section called ‘Casual Encounters?'”

Tim: “No! Isn’t that for gay guys?”

Bob: “Mostly, but it allows you to anonymously post listings on there if you want to. All you need to do is make up a fake Yahoo email account and verify your posting that way, and then you can post all kinds of shit on there. Yeah, it is used by a lot of men looking for other men, but that’s the beauty of it.”

Tim: “And why is that?”

Bob: “Because, like I said, you can leave anonymous postings on there for people you don’t like, searching for other men. Yeah, it’s a little mean to fuck with people just looking for anonymous, discreet gay sex, but some people need to be fucked with that way, don’t you think?”

Tim: “Definitely. I can think of at least 10 people that I could easily do that to… Have you ever done that before?”

Bob: “Remember that job I interviewed for about a month ago?”

Tim: “The one for the marketing director at Penguin Publishing?”

Bob: “Yeah, and do you remember me telling you about how much of a dick the guy that interviewed me was, and how he said there was no way he would want me working with him because of my lack of ‘concrete experience,’ as he called it?”

Tim: “Yeah.”

Bob: “Well I went home from that interview feeling really shitty. Here’s a guy that barely knows me, but thinks he can size up most anyone because he’s the human resources guy, and then completely misreads me and makes me feel like shit about myself. Plus, he was a complete jock.”

Tim: “So you posted an anonymous hook-up link for him to get revenge?”

Bob: “Yes, and it was beautiful. I titled it ‘Human Resource Manager Looking to Get Ass Resourced,’ and went into all these intricate details about how I, or he, was looking for an anonymous gay man to show him the ropes, that it had to be discreet, and that he needed to be dominated. Then I left his phone number, but I spelled out the numbers to appear a little less obvious.”

Tim: “Did it work?”

Bob: “Well I hope so. That’s the one downside to Internet posting revenge; you never get to find out what the results were of the prank.”

Tim: “Yeah, but if it made you feel OK at the time, then that’s good enough.”

Bob: “I suppose, but it still would’ve been nice to know what that prick experienced when he had all these gay men calling him and asking to bust his anal cherry.”

Tim: “He probably told them that he had a lack of ‘concrete experience’ in that field…”


Bob: “You know what I don’t understand.”

Tim: “What?”

Bob: “How we used to vilify people with addictions, and now we empathize with them and treat them better than regular people.”

Tim: “I don’t think that’s a recent development; I think that’s how it’s been for quite some time now.”

Bob: “Well yeah, of course it has in modern times, but two or three hundred years ago, you could be publicly flogged for excessive drunkenness. And now… we’re supposed to feel sorry for people that rely on drinking.”

Tim: “Maybe it’s because we all can relate to needing a drink on one level or another.”

Bob: “Possibly… still, there’s some drunks in my life that need a good flogging.”

Tim: “Mine too…. But you need to remember that people with addictions are technically suffering from a disease, no matter how compassionate your lady may be to the town drunk.”

Bob: “Was I being that obvious about where this discussion was brimming from?”

Tim: “No, I just knew it was an issue with you… I think what you need to realize in regards to that situation is whom your lady chooses as friendly company. If she’s going out of her way to search out drunks and druggies and doing her best to feel sorry for them and pretend to clean up their messes, then she’s probably got some addiction issues of her own, whether personal or familial.”

Bob: “I’ve already heard and read that one way too many times. So you know her… do you think there’s a problem there?”

Tim: “It’s not a problem to begin with. It may hurt like fuck and confuse the shit out of you, but it’s just the way she will instinctually act until someone sits her down and explains why she acts in such a way.”

Bob: “So you think it’s basically just another need for approval?”

Tim: “Yes, and harping on vilifying drunks and wanting to flog them will only bring her closer to that which you don’t want.”

Bob: “Umm, I just had a thought… Should we even be having this conversation in a bar?”

Tim: “For christ sakes! It’s Saturday night. There’s no drunks here. They know better than to come out drinking on the one night of the week when they can’t get their regular bar stool. I think it’s OK to discuss here. Besides, you brought it up.”

Bob: “Yeah, I know. It’s just that the guy I want to flog just poured us our latest round…. I hope he doesn’t remember who I am.”

Tim: “Well just to be safe, don’t order any mixed drinks from him for the rest of the night…”


Bob: “This guy has quite a masturbation routine. I’ve never seen anything like it, well, I guess I have, but nothing so clear cut and systematic as his.”

Tim: “What, has he figured out a way to keep his hands jism free while working the remote control?”

Bob: “Hardly, he doesn’t even own porn. He’s afraid it would incriminate him if his girlfriend found out.”

Tim: “So what does he do then?”

Bob: “He uses a Mac-based web browser called Safari.”

Tim: “Big deal, everyone jerks off to internet porn. That’s no routine.”

Bob: “Let me finish. He’s taken the time to set up Safari so that MPEG files download to his desktop, so he can save any MPEG movies he downloads. But he’s set up his download manager so that it doesn’t save a history of recent downloads at all. He also set it up in his preferences to erase the web browser’s history each time he quits the program.”

Tim: “There’s still tracks left though, even if his history is erased each time he quits. Doesn’t he know what a cache is?”

Bob: “Yeah, he’s set that up so that it resets each week. He has an occasional shemale fetish, which he’s real paranoid about anyone finding out about, so he even trashes the program once a month and re-downloads it from the Apple site.”

Tim: “Shemales? Are you serious?”

Bob: “I wish I wasn’t.”

Tim: “Then why is he telling you about it?”

Bob: “Because I was on his computer one day. I was researching oil sources for different oil companies for that Mother Jones article I’m writing, and I wanted to go to the Shell Oil Company website, which is shell.com, and I started to type in w-w-w-.s-h-e, and before I could go any further, the browser’s menu bar suggested going to a site called w-w-w-.shemaleantics.com, because it was in his cache.”

Tim: “Ouch.”

Bob: “So I asked him what that was about, and he seemed confused at first, but then just blurted out that he’s got an occasional lusting for men, but can’t get down with the men actually looking like men… so he opts for shemales.. I was a little shocked at first, but after a few minutes I just figured that I wasn’t womanly enough to be an object of desire for him. ..Plus I was glad he was honest about it and not stumbling over his words, trying to make up a reason why he would have shemales in his internet cache.”

Tim: “I would’ve been saying, “Shit, I was playing a joke on my friend and wanted to send him some really nasty porn, so I downloaded a shemale photo and sent it to him.”

Bob: “Well we can’t all be wise asses and quick witted like you now, can we?”

Tim: “You can be if you want to, especially on the internet.”

Bob: “That is true.”

Tim: “So anyway, how does he hide the MPEG files he downloads to his desktop?”

Bob: “He doesn’t. And this is the part I thought was so systematic. He only downloads 4 movies at a time, and then he arranges the MPEG files on his desktop in a square, hits Apple+L so that the movies loop, and then has a good hands-free jerking experience. It’s almost like a modern day peep show without leaving the house, and without needing a free hand to switch channels.”

Tim: “So what does he do with his free hand, play with his balls or something?”

Bob: “No, he holds the door shut so that his girlfriend’s dog can’t get in the room. Apparently, the dog mistakes him jerking off for some kind of playing and always jumps in his lap when he (the dog) catches him jerking off!”

Tim: “I know what I’m getting him for his birthday then: a lock for his door and a shemale porn DVD.”


Bob: “If you had to choose between coffee or alcohol, what would you choose?”

Tim: “Wow, that’s a great question. Both beverages offer so much on so many different levels, from the physical to the psychological to the societal.”

Bob: “Which is why I’m asking. I’ve been asking people for years now. It started out simple enough, just asking women that depended on both to some degree and trying to figure out if I would like them or not, and eventually, I started to understand how you could characterize and categorize different people according to their results.”

Tim: “And what have you found?”

Bob: “Well, this is all speculation, but I’ve found with people that drink both forms of beverage somewhat regularly, that you have day and night people. Correspondingly, the day people choose coffee, while the night people choose alcohol. And then there’s often one or two weirdos that asks about coffee cordials and what group they would fall into, but I’ve never understood the people that want to combine a chemical on switch with a chemical off switch.”

Tim: “Because coffee is a stimulant and alcohol is a depressant?”

Bob: “Yeah.”

Tim: “I know what you mean. Lately, I’ve been noticing so many people drinking Red Bull with vodka, which probably tastes good, but is also probably physically confusing for your body.”

Bob: “Exactly, and it’s hard enough to understand and separate the motives of the coffee drinkers from the alcohol drinkers, let alone a new group that wants to combine the two, but then also, join the night people at the party.”

Tim: “Plus Red Bull’s a lot more fucking expensive than tonic or club soda… But that would lead me to assume that it’s not about people trying to combine stimulants and depressants, but actually just a chance to appear more lofty in a dirty bar. Of course, I don’t inhabit bars all the time, so I don’t really know.”

Bob: “Yeah, you’re probably right. Some idiot saw an ad in an upscale cigar magazine suggesting the combination, and thought to himself, well, fuck I better do this if I want to get woman while I’m out partying.”

Tim: “Or it could’ve been one of those little alcoholic drink street teams that go to bars, give away free samples and tell people that it’s the cool new thing to do. Coincidentally, that’s how I heard about Sparks, the Alcoholic Energy Drink.”

Bob: “That sounds awful.”

Tim: “Yeah, it was, but it was free so we drank it til our stomachs hurt, which wasn’t long… What beverage did you choose to eradicate by the way?”

Bob: “Coffee.”

Tim: “Why?”

Bob: “I found a loophole by asking the question using the word coffee. I’d still have access to caffeine, just not coffee.”

Tim: “OK, well modify your own question then: caffeine or alcohol?”

Bob: “I’d choose to cut out caffeine then. I’ve been drinking it for so long, that it’s not really a kick start for me anymore. It just makes me more regular in the morning, which at this point, is just detached and apathetic. I guess what I’m getting at, is just that coffee is more of a daily requirement than an enjoyment, like taking a shower or shitting. It doesn’t do much for my mood. Alcohol, on the other hand, can either enrage me or force me to appreciate something I wouldn’t have thought twice about were I sober…. I become more emotionally charged if I’m drinking…. It makes me less regular and I like that part of it…. I’ve also had some great sex while I’ve been drunk…. But I’ve never had great sex with a woman after being out all morning drinking coffee with her. We might have some great shits together, but that would be about it..”

Tim: “So your take is just that the novelty of coffee has worn off then?.. And also that you’re not interested in joint-shitting with women?”

Bob: “Yeah, plus it’s not as socially or emotionally valid to my well being anymore.”

Tim: “And this makes you a night person then?”

Bob: “I presume so. Days of drinking coffee are too mundane for me. What about you?”

Tim: “I’d give up alcohol without thinking twice about it…. I can go days without drinking alcohol and feel fine, but caffeine withdrawal is a bitch. Anytime I’ve gone without coffee or caffeine, I get the worst headaches ever, and they last all day long…. The simple act of giving it up for me right now just doesn’t seem physically feasible.. if I were to… well, at least keep going at the pace I’m at. I can’t go a day without coffee.”

Bob: “So you’d say you’re physically addicted to caffeine then?

Tim: “Definitely, and any medication I might take if I were to withstand caffeine withdrawal would just be full of caffeine anyway, which would negate the effects of eliminating it from my diet. I’m officially a junkie I guess.”

Bob: “At least you’re honest about your shortcomings…”

Tim: “If I were to be totally honest with you, I’d tell you there’s no way I could do one without the other at this point. That’s my biggest shortcoming…”

Bob: “What do you mean?”

Tim: “Just that I’m dependent on both to some degree, and that eliminating one or the other would simply involve some sort of change that I’m too comfortable to make right now…. I can’t take the day without the night I guess.”


Bob: “Name one person that really irritates the shit out of you, just by their being.”

Tim: “That’s easy: Bono from U2.”

Bob: “And why’s that?”

Tim: “Because to me, he embodies all of the excesses allowed by being filthy rich into one person… and also, because he has no problem in flaunting them.”

Bob: “You get all that from dark suits, bug eye shaped sunglasses and bad pop music?”

Tim: “It’s not his physical persona at all. It’s the fact that whenever I see him in a music video, he’s always surrounded by harsh weather conditions like pouring rain and wind gusts.”

Bob: “And this, to you, symbolizes a lavish lifestyle?”

Tim: “It just says to me that this person is too good to appear in everyday mundane life. If I were to see Bono walking down the street and stumbling over cracks in the sidewalk created by overgrown tree roots, I would think different. But to create the illusion that he must only be seen in extreme weather conditions, come on! It says to me that he thinks he’s some sort of god or prophet or biblical figure. It’s the same shit Charlton Heston pulled when he played Moses.”

Bob: “Wow, you’ve really thought this through huh?”

Tim: “I actually have. I keep seeing that damn commercial of U2 on TV where he’s singing that ‘Vertigo’ song in the desert with the wind focused behind him as if he’s control of it, and I get madder each time it’s on!”

Bob: “But I also saw a photo of Bono as a pall bearer for his father’s funeral though. You’d say that’s pretty everyday and mundane, right?”

Tim: “For people that aren’t famous and rich musicians; yes. For him, it’s just another press opportunity to actually support the myth that he is in fact a good human being.”

Bob: “That might very well be the case too… I don’t know though, it seems like there’s always been a tendency for music video directors to depict musicians in harsh weather conditions as well. Is it really just a Bono-centric occurrence?”

Tim: “Who else then?”

Bob: “Ummm… Bryan Adams in the song ‘Run To You.’ He got rained on more in that one video than I ever have in my entire life.”

Tim: “That’s different. The rain in that video signified desperation.”

Bob: “Maybe Bono’s just eternally desperate then?”

Tim: “Would you be if you had his money?”

Bob: “Probably not. I know I would find it hard to actually have the everyday, mundane life you speak of if I had the fame that he has.”

Tim: “Point taken… OK, another example then?”

Bob: “How about…… Milli Vanilli’s ‘Blame It on The Rain’ video?”

Tim: “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Bob: “Yeah. I just can’t think of anymore examples off the top of my head. I’m lucky I pulled that Bryan Adams reference out of my ass.”

Tim: “Bob, referencing Bryan Adams with ease isn’t something you should necessarily be proud of….”


Bob: “I don’t get people that base their whole impression of you on the handshake you give them.”

Tim: “You mean people that used to be in the military?”

Bob: “Not specifically them… I mean anyone or any situation where offering a firm handshake hints at many other social ramifications, like getting interviewed by people for jobs and meeting your girlfriend’s father… I guess you could include ex-military in that group actually. Those guys are haters to anyone that doesn’t look them directly in their eyes and choke their hands. I guess you’d be really fucked if your girlfriend’s dad used to be in the military…”

Tim: “The reason I blurted out that reply was because of that actually happening to me. I was introduced to a friend’s father that used to be a Marine, and I softly shook his hand because I really didn’t give a fuck about being properly introduced to someone I really didn’t give a fuck about knowing. He got all grumpy and asked if I was a real man.., so I told him that I probably wasn’t by his account, and that was that.”

Bob: “Have you seen him since then?”

Tim: “Hell no, so I’m glad I didn’t play his ‘Be a real man’ game…”

Bob: “Because you’re not?”

Tim: “Well, like I said to him, probably not by his account.”

Bob: “It’s as if certain people take entire stock of people they meet simply by measuring the amount of force one uses while clenching.”

Tim: “You know what they should do, and I’m surprised this wasn’t on Seinfeld already, they should make a handshake gauge that measures PSI, and then assign recommended pressures for varying people and situations.”

Bob: “That would be a brilliant idea! Imagine the recommended amounts scale: 60 PSI for a girlfriend’s father, (80 PSI if he’s former military), 65 PSI for a job interviewer, 90 PSI for your girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend….”

Tim: “And… get this… you could wear the gauge disguised as a wristwatch if you weren’t sure of pressures. No one would suspect or even notice…. We should actually pursue that idea.”

Bob: “Well it was your idea. All I did was sarcastically suggest recommended pressures for different people and situations.”

Tim: “Yeah, but you broached the topic… I’m serious, this could actually be a useful idea for a place like that joke gift shop in the mall. Fuck, what’s it called…..”

Bob: “Spencers? The place the sells dildos disguised as personal massagers?”

Tim: “Yeah them.”

Bob: “Should we shake on it then?”

The Difference Between This, That and the Other Thing…

I don’t know if everyone that reads this knows that I put most of my effort into a BMX magazine called Dig. I’ve been working and writing for Dig for, oh, about 8 years now, and it’s become a huge part of my life, and also something that I don’t want to lose anytime soon. We need subscribers to grow though, which means new people to buy and read the damn thing. I am the shittiest pitch man in the history of pitching though, so it’s hard for me to beg and plead with people to buy anything. I’ve come up with the following spiel though, and if anyone wants to help Dig grow, I would encourage you to keep reading and keep in mind that I’m horrible at sales. It’s kinda like in the end of UHF, when Weird Al’s character retains ownership of the TV station and saves Noodles McEntire’s job…..

I hate sounding like a salesman, but there are some times in life when you need to. We make Dig BMX each month for people that ride BMX. We’re not interested in showcasing Dave Mirra’s latest contest exploits. We’re more interested in real BMX by real people. Whether that’s jumping off a curb or riding the local skatepark on a 16″ bike is up to you. I know this is the most cliché thing we could say, but Dig is made by people that ride for people that ride, so if you can show your support for the magazine, we’d greatly appreciate it. And we need subscriptions to grow, so here’s the deal…

If you’re not subscribed, now is the perfect time to get on board. Here’s the deal: if you subscribe to Dig now, you get a full year of the magazine (9 issues) delivered to your door, a free Etnies ‘Forward’ DVD and a Dig BMX Mag t-shirt in the size of your choice. This offer is available in the U.S., U.K. and throughout Europe. and the price is beyond reasonable. Here’s the prices: $24.95 in the U.S., £24.95 in the U.K and €40 in Europe.
Without this special offer, the combined total of the subscription, DVD and t-shirt would be over $50 in the U.S., £50 in the U.K. and €60 in Europe, so you’re getting quite a deal.
Here’s how to get in on the fun: log onto http://www.digbmx.com/ find the subscription link, and order online with a credit card. Then, go watch TV for a while and wait for your magazine and free gifts in the mail.
There’s more where this came from if you go to the dance with me. Yours truly, Dig BMX Magazine

Christmas Day/Night

It’s Christmas night. I had recently endured driving and more driving and then more driving, before arriving home. First was to my father’s house in the early afternoon (8 miles), followed by further travel to my brother’s house soon after (50 miles), followed by the departure from my brother’s house back to my father’s house (50 miles), before ultimately landing at home after driving home from my father’s house (8 miles). The morning drive to my father’s house was as pleasant as I would hope Christmas could be. I’ve given up on relying on the gifts of giving and receiving in regards to Christmas; it is now an excuse and ultimate dependence on the fact that certain times of the day (both morning and night) will be characterized by the lack of people and crowds and traffic and the population going about their business as usual for one day of the year. Peace on Earth doesn’t arrive through the birth of a savior anymore, it arrives through empty roadways and desolate parking lots given unto us weary early morning travelers by Christmas morning, and it is marvelous. For a few hours each year, rushing to destinations isn’t an issue and there’s no need to make extra travel time to accommodate for traffic. It’s peaceful for the few of us that get out of bed and get behind the wheel, though that serenity only lasts til the early afternoon in most locations. (By 2PM, life is back up to speed and traffic is prevalent to the wayward X-mas traveler.)
But I enjoyed it while it lasted. I savored my glimpse of what I envisioned life to be like, were I the only driver on the road, and it was good. Then I arrived at my father’s house and we got stuck in traffic on the way to my brother’s house. Peace on Earth is fleeting in regards to the Garden State Parkway, but we endured.
The drive home was less grueling of course, as night had arrived. We made it back to my father’s home, and I left bound for my house soon after. My drive home was more of what the morning offered me; empty roads brought on by the general public’s obligation to be at home with family, and I savored it once again.

I returned home and realized I had nothing to drink for the festive night, then quickly shot back down the street to the bar that serves packaged goods out of the side of the bar. It was packed. The strangeness of feeling obligated to spend more than a usual amount of time around one’s family usually has people itching to escape the confines of home come X-mas day, and as everything is closed, not many options for refuge are available to the familial escapees. Luckily, bars and convenience stores remain open throughout the holiday season. Kisko’s is a tavern down the road that additionally serves packaged goods in a small alcove of the bar that was recently fashioned into the shape of a small liquor store. It’s cheap and open past 10PM, which allows every would-be-alcoholic in the area the chance to not seem like they need to rush to the normal liquor store before 10PM. It’s the loophole drinkers seek when friends are hinting that there might be a problem, and it’s only a bike ride away.
I entered the bar and made my way to the packaged goods section. The crowd was boisterous and additionally filled all sides of the bar. Parked just within the door were other bikes aside from the one I just entered with. I filed past the bar and into the store area, oblivious to the bartender. She was at the other end of the bar, serving customers and partaking in the festivities. I perused the various wines available conveniently down the road from my house at 10:30PM on Christmas night. The selection wasn’t outstanding, but at least this option of a poor selection of various wines from California was available to me, reminding myself once again that it is 10:30PM on Christmas night. I ignored labels and simply went by price. $5 was too cheap and would have to be forced down, and the selection didn’t vary too greatly from the $5 variety. I reached up to the top shelf and grabbed a Cabernet. It was $9.40.
I waited for the bartender patiently for about 3 minutes, whom was still serving patrons of the bar. I assumed she hadn’t seen me and decided to walk from outside of the store area and into the bar, hoping to make enough eye contact with her so that she would understand the “Hey, I need to pay for this wine over here” aloofness I was aiming to portray. Ultimately, she did.
Bartenders serving packaged goods have, in the past, not been the most friendly cashiers. I assume that bartenders see people buying packaged goods as missed opportunities for getting tipped at the regular bar. At least I would were I a bartender.
Kisko’s is different though. I think the clientele at the bar harass the bartenders to the point that they appreciate less business, but this is pure speculation brought on by one event about a year ago, buying packaged goods in the same bar on a less festive night than Christmas. The woman bartender ringing up my purchase asked me if I had a girlfriend. I immediately stuttered, and softly replied, “Umm, yeah I do. Sorry to disappoint you.” She then quickly retorted, “No, I wasn’t hitting on you… Some dirtbag back there (motioning in the direction of the bar) brought my flowers today, and he’s a total creep, so I was asking you if you had a girlfriend because I was going to offer you to take the flowers off of my hands and then surprise your girlfriend.”
I was taken aback. Here was someone simply trying to present me with a nice gesture, and I made it seem like I was a pompous fuck riding my bike around the downtown area, assuming every woman I came into contact with was interested with me. I slowly replied, “Fuck, sorry about that. I hope you didn’t take that the wrong way. It’s just that the last time a woman asked me that, she then tried to ram her tongue down my ear.”
“No, I didn’t. It’s an understandable reaction. Do you want the flowers though?” she followed with.
“Sure I guess so,” I replied. “Will the guy get mad?” I asked.
“No, he’s a complete psycho. He does it to all the girls that work here,” she answered.
I paid for my wine, thanked the bartender and made my home to a newly happy girlfriend, content with the fact that the flower buyer was just “a complete psycho.” I didn’t pass it off like I bought the flowers though, sure that I would’ve paid dearly for such a karmically poor action somewhere down the road.
Anyway, this encounter reinforced my assumption that the bartenders embraced packaged good customers at Kisko’s with open arms; on the basis that the quick fire in and out customers presented less of a problem than the ones that stayed a while and offered up their self-fortified brands of liquid courage.
The new Christmas night bartender approached. She asked if the wine I was about to buy was a gift or not. I immediately started to worry if there was some unknown law about buying wine for yourself on Christmas night, but then blurted out, “Whatever way puts me to sleep faster.”
She then replied, “So I guess I don’t need to wrap this then?”
“Yes,” I said.
She packaged it up and then said, “Maybe you should just get some Nyquil instead?”
I grabbed the small talk bait and replied, “Yeah that would work, but it just doesn’t go down as smooth. I need a hint of the fruity aftertaste that a nice Cabernet offers.” I was two things here; surprised at my quick and witty reply, but also surprised that I was somewhat comfortable in making small talk with a strange woman, whom also had a revealing top on that cradled her rather large breasts together. (Usually, the breast thing spells ‘intimidation’ in all capital letters.)
She gave me a courtesy laugh, took my money, gave me change and offered her sincerest holiday greetings, which I returned. I think she had bigger assholes than me to attend to in the regular bar, ones that would tip on behalf of the cleavage factor. I rode home through the cold Christmas night air, fully aware that I was about to escape reality through two quick glasses of wine and a 1-2 punch to the pillow. 40 minutes of The History Channel later and I was out cold and done with another Christmas, (the actual day at least).