Before the brash act (S-T-A-U-N-C-H):
After spending an entire day by myself, with myself, did I mention myself? in the basement, I went to Target. A young man helped me locate which aisle the toothpicks were in, but it wasn’t easy. He had to read the beeps coming from his “Ghostbusters” targeting device. It took about five minutes. I ended up giving him my phone number.
Ok what really happened, short version but less short. After five minutes of fruitless toothpick searching, we finally arrived in the correct aisle. The young man reached out and touched my arm, and said while looking me in the eye, “Sorry about the wild goose chase.” Then I said, no, it was fun, and stumbled out into the hot Somerville streets.
Actually I went to the electronics aisle but they didn’t have the videogame I wanted, “Wii Fit,” so then I left and went to Marshall’s. And called my friend Megan, to talk about the young man touching me and his message. It meant something to me, it felt right. Serendipity was in the air (or had I just marinated too long in the basement?) Megan talked me into talking myself into going back to Target and giving the young man my phone number.
I wrote my phone number on the back of my Target receipt. Toothpicks, $1.99 was on that receipt just in case he forgot who I was. By the way, the young man looked like Jude Law to me. I get back to Target and feel surprisingly good, not nervous; I know I am doing the right thing by not bringing home and tinge of regret. Inside the store, however, I cannot find him. Spacing out, disappointed, in the coffee machine aisle, he walked up to me! I thrust the note with my phone number on it into his hand (of course I wrote something about “wild goose chases”), stammered something about it feeling right, and left.
Last night he texted me, and while I am not sure, to say the LEAST, about where any of this will go, that alone leads me to believe that there might have been more to him touching me on the arm than the paranoid effect of simple basement solitude. Perhaps I’m not so off-Target after all.
rawyzer, mauzer! poor staff. well, if it felt right..?
Mr. Dog,
I think that this story shows convincingly that the 3rdarm.biz machine needs business cards. Biznesslike ones.
He texted! See, in America arm-touching definitely means something, and that something means something else when infused with the words, “wild, goose,” and “chase.”
What did the text say? Did he invite you to ride jet skis this weekend at Winnipausaukee? Divulge!