What’s the etiquette here? I’m in the corner booth, the “icebox” I call it, it’s cozy, but right underneath the air vent and I’m fucking freezing. It’s fall in Tennessee and it’s colder inside Panera than outside and it’s raining right now. It’s November 14th, kill the A/C already.
Across yonder field of bread bowls and baguettes sits Alterna-girl! Dun dun dun dunnnnn. In this land of feathered hair and hoodies, Alterna-girl is wearing striped stockings and dark cleopatra bangs and hipster glasses and I’m in love.
She must be doing awesome things over there on her laptop. Probably shopping for graphic novels or tattoo browsing or something else that would blow my ever-loving mind. Yes, those are indeed the most likely activities.
She sure gets up a lot. Coffee, cookie, bathroom? What are you doing over there? Oh. I see we’re playing eye contact tag. How delicious. Of course she’s a long ways away. She could be 19 from this distance, googling Bieber pics and retwitting everything Ashton grave-robbing Kutcher tweets.
Okay, that’s strange. After the last get-up session she stops and waves at me. Naaahhh. This is Tennessee, not Saved by the Bell, and I’m in Panera, not the Max and girls don’t wave at guys across coffee shops. She must know…..THAT GUY, that guy’s in the line of fire, gotta be that guy. That guy’s not waving. The fuck is going on here? I’ll just make a weird face and look down at my computer, solid play. Is she still looking? Is that disappointment? Probably because THAT GUY didn’t wave back, the guy she actually knows. Gotta be.
What? She’s leaving now? Did I just fuck up some serious Kate Beckingsale / John Cusack shit just then? Best to play it safe, Carey. Eat your fucking bread bowl.
Until next time, Alterna-girl. Until next time.