There's a really hot girl at the Kemeny's cashier today. Boyish looks, short-cropped hair, a facial piercing: the sort of thing that I love.
She seems bored as hell as she's doing the scan-BEEP!-scan-BEEP! checkout role in that line of work and as I'm paying for some things, I do my natural reaction to people today and say "Happy Australia Day" to her.
She tells me that so far I'm the only one to say "Happy Australia Day" to her. She's been saying it all day to people and not a single one has said it to her first.
So she asks me how my day's been. I reply "mediocre; how's yours?" and she tells me that it's been okay aside for a bit clumsy.
"Clumsy's fine," I say, "as long as you're okay." She smiles a bit.
And then I pay and say "Have a good Australia Day, or what's left of it anyway" and leave the store.
The problem with checkout transactions is that you don't exactly get to be in a conversation with people. You don't learn their name and the single-serve relationship that you've taken part in doesn't really allow you to say "hey, you wouldn't mind getting a drink later".
Not that I could anyway. I'd love to, but as much as I want to be nice to myself, that sort of simple straight-off-the-bat courage isn't something I actually think I have in me.
As I wandered the road of Bondi looking for salad and finding nothing, I realised that maybe I should go back in, buy something like a bottle of champagne or something and say "hey, you wouldn't mind getting a drink later or doing something" but I figured that with my crappy luck, she's probably find me weird, call the manager, or just tell me no, she's got a boyfriend.
I walked after buying crappy salad and thought that she'll probably go home, put her feet up, maybe eat a chicken dinner (because that's what you do in Bondi) and exchange a couple of words with a roommate who will tell her to come out to the pub and see some friends.
…
It's weird what you can create in your mind with words and people you've never really met.
What would you have done?