I'd Like You To Meet MeSubmitted by Murphy1844 at 2007-05-02 04:21:50 EDT
Rating: 1.82 on 23 ratings (23 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
I don't think you've met the other me. Her name is Sue and she lives on another continent. She speaks a different language and she wears different clothes and she smokes different cigarettes. Cigarettes you've probably never heard of.
She owns a successful restaurant in nowhere. Other aliens visit her and fill up. On this day, the day that I'm introducing you to other me, you'll find her sitting in front of her little quaint restaurant smoking a cigarette and drinking a hot cup of black coffee. She will be reading the paper. The time will be early in the morning. And she'll say to you, “hey, sweetie, you hungry?”
You'll be hungry. Your stomach will hurt. You might feel like eating so much that you'll be worthless afterwards. After you eat your whole body will shut down until all the food is processed. At the same time, you'll feel warm from the sincerity of this greeting. You'll feel like this woman you've never met before somehow knows you already and you'll have a safe, home-like feeling. You might pat your belly and arch your back and say, “yes.”
“Well come on in,” she'll say, “and I'll get you something to eat.” Her voice sounds like she's been smoking since the death of Christ. She blows smoke downward, out of your direction, and snubs out her cigarette in an ashtray sitting next to her coffee. Sue then stands up and puts a hand on her lower back and you hear her say to herself, “ahhh” and then she takes a big gulp of coffee and walks toward the door.
Inside, you smell peppered bacon and yeast. You smell buttered hash browns and strips of cooked sausage links. You imagine dipping your links in hot syrup while know one's looking and your mouth waters. Looking up, you see friendly Sue with a short, eraser-less pencil in her hand a and a cooking order on the table. She is smiling. “So what'll it be then, eh?
It's nice to meet you.
The real me, at some time early this morning, sat on a cheap plastic chair in front of a pizza joint in a suburb of Portland and smoked a Marlboro. I was getting ready to open the store. I was drinking a large Americano from Starbucks with lots of cream and sugar. A man approached the door and said, “you open yet?”
I was thinking about the other me. Sue. Genuinely warm Sue. I said, “sure, just give me one second and I'll be right with ya.” I pushed my cheap chair under the cheap table and grabbed my coffee.
“What would you like?”
He stared at the menu, above and behind me. He stared. I waited. He said, “so what's your special?”
Most people who visit Sue know her. They know that she's not working to make money because, as she puts it, “well I already made plenty 'a that.” She says 'that' like it's gross. She works because she gets some kind of enjoyment out of it. When people ask her why, I... - she always says that it's not bad but I hate coming home smellin' like burnt bacon. People who know her get a kick out of that.
The man at the counter, at the pizza joint, said, “...and I'll have some hot wings.”
“Sure thing. How many would you like? They come in eight, ten, or twelve.” He said:
This man didn't care about me and I didn't care about him. We both had good reason not to care about each other. For starters, we'll probably never see each other again. Next, we most likely both reason that we have a limited amount of energy and hardly any to spare, so why give a shit and use up more energy than is necessary with somebody you don't give a shit about? Last, I am the server. He is the customer. Customers are used to having their balls sucked in this server-customer relationship without the expectation of even a thank you hand job. To this man, it probably seemed like I was sucking balls. The theory goes: customers with wet balls spend more money. Cheesy mission statements all around the world all boil down to this: “Welcome to [business establishment]. We will suck your balls and smile!” But today I wasn't sucking balls. I was thinking about the other me, Sue.
Sue from a different continent. Sue who smokes cigarettes you've never heard of.
The man took his pizza to go and buzzed off to do whatever he buzzed off to do. Always thinking about the next thing. He probably ate his pizza in his truck, hoping to be on time to wherever he was going. Then, at work, he was probably thinking about shit to do when he gets off work. Then, when he's actually doing the shit he was thinking about doing at work, he'll be thinking about work the next day and what needs to be done. His wife, at the time of marriage, had beautiful skin and white teeth and outstanding boobs. Now, kids later, her skin looks worn with age lines and her tits sunk down and look floppy and old. He doesn't even touch them any more because it makes him sick. He thinks, what happened??” When they have sex, he thinks about women who look like his wife did when he married her. He feels guilty. Then he wakes up and goes to work and thinks about what he's going to have for lunch.
I don't know this, but it's a pretty good guess I think.
Sue, when she went home from work at some time in the afternoon, walked. I... -er, she has plenty of money to drive but she likes to walk. She thinks it keeps her healthy. Her doctor, Dr. Jones, says that she's in good overall health but she should probably lose a few pounds and quit smoking. In Sue's medicine cabinet you will find a bottle of eight-one milligram aspirin tablets. She takes one every day because Dr. Jones says that it's good for her.
There's much more to tell you about Sue and she's happy to meet you.
We'll chat again soon I think.
Sue... er... Murphy