There's this place in San Francisco where I like to go but I'm embarrassed to say the name of it because it's humiliatingly obvious, so let's just say it's the biggest cliche in the universe but the coffee there is so, so good. The whole place is typically filled to the brim with iBooks and iPods and people who are too creative to be bothered so they all just sit around ignoring each other. Occasionally, you can meet interesting people at this obvious Mission cliche, but we all know how good I am at meeting people.
If you're just tuning in, I'm really bad at meeting people. Half the people who know me will scoff at this remark because on most occasions I will meet someone for the first time and envelope them in a big hug and speak to them naturally about anything at all. But typically when I'm sober I'm frightfully nervous around strange new people, so much that I'm usually referred to as a "aloof" or "boring" or "bitch". And when I have an opportunity to meet a man who might be interested in me, ahem, romantically, I basically don't get it and end up making a fool of myself.
And thus, at this obvious Mission cliche, I met another Mission cliche one Friday afternoon, a guy with dark hair and a Powerbook clicking madly away and some kind of nerd language and drinking a latte, imagine that. We were crunched together at a tiny table sharing the very limited personal space we had left as the little apples on our computers consummated their meeting, and we just looked at each other and looked away for a good hour, totally obvious and oblivious at the same time.
This guy was basically sitting on my lap, all tangled up in my power cords, and he kept glancing over at me and saying things, and because I am so nervous and awkward and sweaty around men I could not think of a thing to say to him. So instead, every time he would say something to me, I'd just giggle and repeat it back to him.
"Is your network connection running really slow?"
"My network connection is running really slow, hee hee."
"This place is so hip sometimes it's gross."
"I know, it's so hip sometimes it's gross, hee hee."
"You're basically the most retarded person I've ever met."
"Hee hee, basically retarded, hee hee."
An hour later, I was still playing Simon Says with this guy, suddenly the Blue Angles flew overhead because it was Fleet Week and they ridiculously think we care. Everyone in the place ducked into their tables because we all seriously thought it was terrorists and because we are so important we figured they were coming for us. In this moment of fright and complete panic this guy and I met eyes, and there was swooning involved and I had dreams of us bonding in the tragedy of it all, and he said, "They really should not fly planes like that so low in a big city."
And I said, "Yeah, they really should not fly planes like that so low in a big city, hee hee."
And then 20 minutes of silence passed as I pretended to do something very important and creative and he pretended to not be watching me the whole time, and then he said, "Do you know of a good stationary store around here?"
Quizzically, I replied, "Do I know of a good stationary store around here?"
All of the sudden I realized that for the past hour and a half this guy had been flirting with me in the most cryptic way possible becuase how was I supposed to know?? So the whole time I was just sitting there REPEATING TO HIM what he said to me and rubbing the sweat from my palms on my jeans. And now he was asking me where the paper store is? For him to, what, write a letter with? In my heart I knew he was flirting and trying to make conversation and it was endearing and I should have loved him for it. But for some reason, my head made my mouth say to him, "Like, paper for writing letters? Like not email letters? Like for letters letters?"
And he kind of went, "Well, yeah, I guess it's silly sounding..."
And I went, "(SCOFF) Yeah, well who writes letters anymore, ppsshhhh. Even for cards, I mean, you can send an Evite, you know?" And then I probably rolled my eyes.
And he kind of blinked and shook his head and said, "Yeah, I just needed to get some stationary."
And then he started packing up his things. Now, I could have done any number of things at this point, I could have stopped him or offered to take him to the stationary store, like all metaphorically and shit, but I didn't. I just put my iPod buds back in my ears and let him pack up all huffy and walk away because that's what hipsters do.
So the moral of the story is simple: I'm talking to you, San Francisco men. I know I'm not the best at communicating during intoxicating moments of possible infatuation, but you guys need to stop being such girls too. Even if you're all creative and designy and have a Neighborhoodie and like to drink coffee, you still need to learn how to communicate with words. If you're sitting by a cute girl you want to talk with, fucking reinstall your balls software and talk to her. The whole disinterested thing isn't working for you stupid hipster men, and while you're at it learn how to open a fucking door and pay for her damn cup of coffee, would you? Thanks.
