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No Directions For Me, And No Casual Supermarket Flirtations before/after Its apparent that asking for directions is simply a waste of time. Its my own fault. When I moved here, I made sure to learn where the nearest post office was. Memorized it. And then, a week later, the post office moved. So I know resolutely where the old post office is, which is now a sorting facility with no boxes on the outside of it. And I have been to the new post office about five times. But I never seem to remember where it is. The last few times I have gone to mail something, I've ran across helpful mailmen who take my mail for me. This enables my lack of postal office whereabouts knowledge. The last time, which was this week, strangely, there were no mailmen to be seen anywhere. I stopped and asked an elderly woman. She had a strange story about "just being here to see the dog" and didn't know where the post office was. "There's one on Colorado," she supplied. Which is like saying there is fish in the ocean, go get em'. So I left her alone, and trolled up the street, spotting a woman and a baby carraige. The carraige spoke to me of responsibility, so I took a chance. "Excuse me," I said, "Do you know where the post office is?" "No inglais'" she said. "Gracias," I said and gave up. Eventually I found a box by a small college and posted my mail. I still don't know where the post office is. And I've been there too often to not know. This frustrates me. Also, I have been thinking about the grocery store girl pick up. Chocolate covered doughnuts also gets one treated with scorn. I saw a woman, slightly older than me, with pretty eyes, hot black pants and a tight bubble behind. I like womanly hips. I also like a tight bubble behind. I am against butt cellulite in any event. We made eye contact, and I kept looking on the sly, because I liked her pants. More accurately, I like what was in her pants, and I wanted her pants on my bedroom floor at some point. She lurked around the coffee area, subtly checking out guys as they came by to avail themselves to fresh ground coffee. She was subtle, in a way. I suppose if I drank coffee, I would have had a better chance. However, I didn't put this all together until later. When she flirted with a guy, I incorrectly assumed she was with him. She was not. But I didn't know this. So I sighed to myself and took a healthy interest in the raised doughnuts with chocolate on the top. I think she caught me looking. She quietly came over, and checked out my basket. I had nothing in it, and instead was piling chocolate dougnuts into my bag hand over fist. It was only four. I like doughnuts in the morning. She saw the doughnuts, sighed, turned away and left my area. All my foods are definite signals of peasanthood in the realm of Supermarket Girl Pick-ups. The thought is tempting to get subtly pimped out in a nice sweater and jeans, brush my hair and troll the supermarket. Fill my basket with stuff like bean sprouts and espresso. Whey. Ask for help in the produce section. But that just sounds exhausting, and I really wouldn't want to keep that act up anyway. I can pretend to be other people than me, but really, I like being me. Its so much easier. So I'm an unrepentant supermarket peasant. Eventually there will be an uprising. My cohorts who breeze in and out, comfortably dressed with poor eating habits will congregate. We will riot. I will lead the masses. These bean sprout people will quail at our numbers and fury. We will throw produce at them until they decide to shop in comfortable clothes and act and eat like normal people. We will have orgies in the espresso aisle and arranged marriages in produce. No one will own property and we will have fertility rites every full moon, to coincide with double coupon day. I will be hailed as a god of the marketplace. Woman will weep at my approach and children will cling to their mothers. I will annoit a successor, move to the tropics and never set foot in a marketplace again. Actually, if a riot broke out in the supermarket, the police would likely shoot me, and my dream of a casual, non-judgemental supermarket flirtation utopia will be still-born.
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