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She had nice shoes.
I’ve forgotten what made them nice, what colour they were or pretty much anything to do with them. Maybe one day, I’ll see the shoes again and it’ll all come flashing back to me. Until then, you’ll have to make do with ‘nice’.
She was nice too, although I forget the details. I remember that she wore a cool charm bracelet and dressed unconventionally. And yeah, she was nice in a pretty sort of way.
We sat across from each other at the back of a bus, separated by about three seats but also by social conventions. She was a stranger on public transport. You don’t speak to them.
I didn’t want to chat her up or anything. I have an aversion to that whole scene, partly because I fear that I’ll come across as some creepy player (pronounced ‘playa’) and partly because it’s always been scary to stand in front of girls and talk. So I don’t chat strangers up. It seems that I only flirt with those I’ve known for ages, which is a fools game also.
But enough about my romantic life, or lack thereof.
All I wanted to say was ‘Nice shoes’, a genuine compliment, just to make her smile. As noble motivations go, I’d say it was quite up there.
But things are never, never that simple. So I compliment her, and it goes badly, what then? What if she really thinks I’m hitting on her? We’re sitting only a few feet away, and the awkwardness would kill me. Maybe I could get off at an earlier stop, and await the next bus. The other choices, headphones in ears or moving somewhere else on the bus, are dead giveaways I’m trying to avoid her after the awkward encounter.
And even if it goes down well, and I get the smile I’m after, what then? We’ve already discussed that I don’t hit on people well, and the idea of stilted small-talk isn’t my idea of a fun-filled bus journey.
What I needed was a way to compliment and run. Like a really nice hit-and-run incident without the mangling of human limbs and car. I hoped she was getting off after me. I could say my piece and leave, unworried about whether my compliment hit home or not. It couldn’t be the other way around. Shouting after a leaving girl just seems lame.
My (not very) elaborate plan was spoiled somewhat when we stopped outside a pub and a bunch of lads got on the bus. They were celebrating some sort of victory in football or rugby or cricket, I forget which, and they chose to take up the three seats between me and the girl with nice shoes.
They were drunk and chanting, which kind of crosses cricket off the list of potential sports they had been watching. Not a whole lot of chanting in that sport.
I’ve never got the appeal of shouting sporting chants on public transport. I get the idea of it, the way it harkens back to ancient times and blood chants before hunts or battle and some such. I even get why people do it at sporting events. There’s that sense of community in it and, unless you enlist in the army, a local derby game is the closest the average Joe gets to taking part in a battle.
What I don’t get is the motivation behind shouting “EN-GER-LAND!” loudly and rhythmically on a bus or a train. For one thing, England has two syllables. But I just don’t get what they expect to achieve. They just come across as jackasses who don’t know what is appropriate to do in any given situation. Like making out with your girlfriend during a funeral.
Anyway, little off-topic there.
So they sat between us, drinking and shouting and being boys. I had my headphones in, and could just barely drown them out, but they still halted any plan of complimenting the girl across from me.
She put on some music too, also annoyed by the Neanderthals separating us. Thank god, I thought, because the fact that she didn’t like the lads translated in my mind to her having impeccable taste in everything. We probably loved the same songs, owned the same movies and would enjoy the same restaurants. We were made for each other, thanks to the simple act of putting headphones into ears.
She caught me looking.
I wasn’t staring, oh no. The occasional glance was all it was, and it just so happened we glanced at the same time. I raised my eyebrows, a silent hello. She did the same. At about this time, one of the man-apes shouted something obscene or acted in a childlike manner (I forget which) and I rolled my eyes at it.
It was supposed to say “What an incredibly inarticulate individual. With his low IQ and clumsy physique, I’m surprised he can even dress himself in a morning. People like him are the reason I’m skeptical about the whole theory of ‘Natural Selection’.”
Maybe she got that. Maybe not. Either way, she nodded and mirrored the gesture. Then she smiled.
I never did compliment her on her shoes though. We got off at the same stop and there was a brief moment where I could have, maybe, complimented and ran. But I didn’t, because I’m a chicken.
Perhaps there is an alternative world me that had the nerve and is living in a happy relationship with the girl. Perhaps she even bought him his own pair of nice shoes.
But me, I’m just left with the memory of her smile. And even that is fading. Soon, all I’ll be left with is the word ‘nice’ and her shoes.
They were nice shoes though.
:)
I’ve forgotten what made them nice, what colour they were or pretty much anything to do with them. Maybe one day, I’ll see the shoes again and it’ll all come flashing back to me. Until then, you’ll have to make do with ‘nice’.
She was nice too, although I forget the details. I remember that she wore a cool charm bracelet and dressed unconventionally. And yeah, she was nice in a pretty sort of way.
We sat across from each other at the back of a bus, separated by about three seats but also by social conventions. She was a stranger on public transport. You don’t speak to them.
I didn’t want to chat her up or anything. I have an aversion to that whole scene, partly because I fear that I’ll come across as some creepy player (pronounced ‘playa’) and partly because it’s always been scary to stand in front of girls and talk. So I don’t chat strangers up. It seems that I only flirt with those I’ve known for ages, which is a fools game also.
But enough about my romantic life, or lack thereof.
All I wanted to say was ‘Nice shoes’, a genuine compliment, just to make her smile. As noble motivations go, I’d say it was quite up there.
But things are never, never that simple. So I compliment her, and it goes badly, what then? What if she really thinks I’m hitting on her? We’re sitting only a few feet away, and the awkwardness would kill me. Maybe I could get off at an earlier stop, and await the next bus. The other choices, headphones in ears or moving somewhere else on the bus, are dead giveaways I’m trying to avoid her after the awkward encounter.
And even if it goes down well, and I get the smile I’m after, what then? We’ve already discussed that I don’t hit on people well, and the idea of stilted small-talk isn’t my idea of a fun-filled bus journey.
What I needed was a way to compliment and run. Like a really nice hit-and-run incident without the mangling of human limbs and car. I hoped she was getting off after me. I could say my piece and leave, unworried about whether my compliment hit home or not. It couldn’t be the other way around. Shouting after a leaving girl just seems lame.
My (not very) elaborate plan was spoiled somewhat when we stopped outside a pub and a bunch of lads got on the bus. They were celebrating some sort of victory in football or rugby or cricket, I forget which, and they chose to take up the three seats between me and the girl with nice shoes.
They were drunk and chanting, which kind of crosses cricket off the list of potential sports they had been watching. Not a whole lot of chanting in that sport.
I’ve never got the appeal of shouting sporting chants on public transport. I get the idea of it, the way it harkens back to ancient times and blood chants before hunts or battle and some such. I even get why people do it at sporting events. There’s that sense of community in it and, unless you enlist in the army, a local derby game is the closest the average Joe gets to taking part in a battle.
What I don’t get is the motivation behind shouting “EN-GER-LAND!” loudly and rhythmically on a bus or a train. For one thing, England has two syllables. But I just don’t get what they expect to achieve. They just come across as jackasses who don’t know what is appropriate to do in any given situation. Like making out with your girlfriend during a funeral.
Anyway, little off-topic there.
So they sat between us, drinking and shouting and being boys. I had my headphones in, and could just barely drown them out, but they still halted any plan of complimenting the girl across from me.
She put on some music too, also annoyed by the Neanderthals separating us. Thank god, I thought, because the fact that she didn’t like the lads translated in my mind to her having impeccable taste in everything. We probably loved the same songs, owned the same movies and would enjoy the same restaurants. We were made for each other, thanks to the simple act of putting headphones into ears.
She caught me looking.
I wasn’t staring, oh no. The occasional glance was all it was, and it just so happened we glanced at the same time. I raised my eyebrows, a silent hello. She did the same. At about this time, one of the man-apes shouted something obscene or acted in a childlike manner (I forget which) and I rolled my eyes at it.
It was supposed to say “What an incredibly inarticulate individual. With his low IQ and clumsy physique, I’m surprised he can even dress himself in a morning. People like him are the reason I’m skeptical about the whole theory of ‘Natural Selection’.”
Maybe she got that. Maybe not. Either way, she nodded and mirrored the gesture. Then she smiled.
I never did compliment her on her shoes though. We got off at the same stop and there was a brief moment where I could have, maybe, complimented and ran. But I didn’t, because I’m a chicken.
Perhaps there is an alternative world me that had the nerve and is living in a happy relationship with the girl. Perhaps she even bought him his own pair of nice shoes.
But me, I’m just left with the memory of her smile. And even that is fading. Soon, all I’ll be left with is the word ‘nice’ and her shoes.
They were nice shoes though.
:)
2 comments:
procrastination
BlOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE
Is the only acceptable chant there is, but if they were chanting that I doubt you wouldn't of been able to make this blog entry so perhaps its good you didn't meet a bunch of drunks chanting something along that line =P
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