I took the F up to the Castro to procure some periodicals and new bedtime reading at Books Inc. (Love the store, helpful folks and they support our local schools) I bought some less than exciting pozole soup at Harvest and headed to the Market St. Island stop to take the F-line back to the office.
A train approaches as I cross to the stop.
A man approaches the stop.
He says something that sounds muffled because I've got my orange earbuds in and I'm rocking out to my Mom music.
I try to be polite and give people the benefit of the doubt, and take my earbuds out, "Just in time!" he says.
"Yeah, sure." I say, and he starts chattering. The old instincts are kind of kicking in and I think, hmm he's rather friendly, this feels like flirting?? But you know, I'm practical somewhere underneath this hot mess exterior, I rifle through my Mary Poppins bag looking for my Clipper Card/Bus pass. It's in hand just in time to see the approaching street car is labelled, "No Passengers -- Training Car".
"Oh well." I say. And -- honest, I swear he said, "that's okay I get to chat w/a cute girl."
(And before you ask, no he wasn't cute. I wouldn't fix him up with a rebounding friend with a low batting average, if you know what I mean.)
Anyhow, I'm seasoned now. I am queen of the smile and nod. I can even do it without rolling my eyes or looking bored or thinking rude things. (scratch that last one)
He asks, "Do you get a lot of men flirting with you in this neighborhood?" -- dude you are killing me, but you are a braver man than I would have you pegged for. Can't kill a dude for trying, even if his taste is questionable. The Dear Manfriend is sufficiently brainwashed, it only took one kid and approximately 14 years to pull that off.
"Uh, no." I don't get hit on much anywhere, and really ... that's ok. (I need validation, but not that kind. It makes me ... uncomfortable.)
"Haha! I can't imagine why!" (dear readers this is sarcasm, because in case you aren't familiar, The Castro is one of the gayest neighborhoods in the global hood.)
I promise you I'm not inviting conversation at this point. I try to distract by helping out a lost City visitor at the stop. He persists.
"Oh man, I just came from downtown ... everybody is crazy for the Giants game!" -- now if this was someone I was enjoying a chat with, I would tell them how I was super-cited as my little sister used to say, for the first game of the World Series. But such as it was not the case, I let him carry on ... "Geez, I was glad to get out there! People are crazy about sports. Some people act so stupid about it." - Another sign of my new maturity ... I didn't even quip, "Yeah, but people are stupid.".
"You know, I loved sports when I was younger. But I liked to play, not watch. I'm a doer." -- Okay, I fall off the wagon here but bear with me.
"Yeah, my kid is kind of like that." -- see dude? I gotta kid, I got responsibilities, so um you should yeah just go chat someone else up. I realize in hindsight that it's not uncommon for almost 40, disheveled women to have kids and be single. I realize I am often in my own little world.
"That's a good kid." -- yes he is, which is why I must apologize for comparing my sweet chip off a whackadoodle block to that ... man.
Wait there's more. "You know sports started off for the circus and the bread, like in the Roman times -- to appease the plebs and masses. No seriously, from ancient times. Before that, in Sparta it wasn't teams. They didn't have official armies (?) they would do sport so they could teach them to work as a team, so they would respond properly if they had to go to war ... blah blah blah ..."
Oh my. This guy really thinks I don't like sports. And thinks I'm unfamiliar w/the classics and is going to give me his bastardize version of history. It's been a while since I studied. But I don't remember it like THAT.
"Do you speak Spanish." Oh here we go. Ever are the trials of the Brown Unidentifiable Ethnic Girl -- I really should write a memoir (with a strong editor, yes HM, I know.)
"Yep, I took Latin for 4 years in high school, doesn't help as much." hint hint, I'm not a Classics idiot.
Oh here we go. If he says the word, "Oriental" or "Exotic" I might lose my maturity in a hot minute.
"Really? (insert some Spanish phrase here?? WTF) as the blessed street car approaches. Well, you know I'm from L.A. and pretty much everyone ..."
"Yeah, I can see that." Every *sshat ...
I climb into a single seat, and I think he understands that I am not inviting anymore conversation. Oh no, he wants to talk about how excited his kids are for Halloween. I let him prattle on for two stops when he gets off.
Okay let's deconstruct this before you tell me that I'm crazypants. (which I am.)
Dude came from downtown.
Dude got on the streetcar with me in the direction of downtown.
Dude stayed on the streetcar for what essentially is a 3.5 city block distance. (unimpressed on so many levels).
Dude smack talked sports AND the Giants fans/game tonight.
Let me show you what I looked like today (orange and black are the SF Giants colors). Let me remind you I just came from the bookstore:
|Four Four Two is an English Soccer Magazine. Not that I like sports (sarcasm)|