A Predestined Conversation With a Guy About to Jerk Off
People don’t like to talk. I know, I know, this sounds like the inner monologue of some Werther’s Original commercial grandfather, that is, “When I was growing up, all we had was conversation, now you can’t get a fellow to give you the time of day,” and I’m okay with sounding like an old fart. I hate feeling like I’m a burden on someone just because I feel like I might have something interesting to say. Everyone is so wrapped up in their time-consuming affairs that one minute of idle conversation seems to throw off their entire day. I know, this is a city in which time equals money, but there’s got to be a better way of telling someone you don’t have time to talk to them.
I’m subletting with a friend of my manager. He’s some kind of engineer, but he composes music in his free time. He’s a very interesting guy, and get him on the subject of a project he’s working on, you couldn’t shut him up. But when I have something strange happen to me, and I want to share it with him, he’s so quick to give me sighs and grumbles to let me know he doesn’t care. He stopped me in the middle of a story once and said, “Okay, okay, I get it, just get to the point.”
I guess I talk to much or make it too flowery, because I seem to get this a lot. Or maybe, its just that everyone is so uninterested in what I have to say that it causes them physical pain to listen. I was at a bar, trying to book a gig, and the owner of the bar came in while I was talking with the talent coordinator. He looked me over for an awkward second, so I introduced myself. The mere thought of having to continue conversation with someone he didn’t know caused him to simply blurt out his first name and make his way out the door as fast as possible.
I wonder if I do this. I wonder if I rush people through whatever they’re saying so that I can stop listening and get on with my life. I hope that, if I am guilty of this, I can start to become aware of it and change it, you know, do unto others.
I wanted to tell my roommate about something interesting that happened to me on my way to Times Square, but he couldn’t be bothered. I had just transferred to a local, and I suddenly realized that I left my résumés in a folder on the express train. I was on my way to find a job, and I set the folder behind me on the seat, so, when I got up to leave, I guess I just went straight out without thinking. When I realized what I’d done, for some stupid reason I jumped off my local train three stops early, as if I’d be able to find my now long gone express train. I decided to stay away from the subway for a few hours.
So I’m walking uptown, and this small Asian man approaches me like he knows me. He just smiles for a minute, and we’re waiting at the crosswalk, so I assume this is just one of those obligatory awkward stranger moments. However, when we begin to walk again, he starts talking to me. He wants to know where I’m going and what I do and where I’m from and where I work and whether I smoke cigarettes. He asks me a lot of questions, and I’m starting to think he’s a little crazy until we get halfway up one block, and he stops me; he literally grabs me and stops me from walking.
“Wait here, okay? Just one second, I promise,” he says. Then he turns around to go into what I assume was some kind of apartment building, but he stops, turns back to me and holds out his hand. “I’m Edward.”
I tell him my name, and then he’s gone. It really doesn’t take him long, and he returns with a black leather instrument case.
“This is for you. I don’t think I need it, but I know you need it, so take it. This man gave it to me because he owed me money, but I don’t need this. You seem like you could use it.”
I’m stunned, and I wonder if there is some lurking catch, but we keep walking. We get a few blocks down, I’m getting close to my destination and he wants to stop again. I’m holding the instrument now–I don’t even know what it is, and, even though I didn’t ask for it, I feel like I kind of owe it to him to stop and wait, only this time, he wants me to come with him.
I tell him I have to get to work (which is only a semi-untruth).
“Don’t you want to come first?”
“What? I’m sorry, what?” I ask, and then I realize he’s walking into a sex shop.
“Do you wanna come first?” he asks again.
What the fuck is in this case? I smile, laugh and say, “No, um, not in there,” and I keep walking, and Edward is gone, and I have his mystery case.
What is it? ‘If you see something, say something?’ Well, I’m too curious to say something and I stop on the next corner beside a street vendor, and I open the case. Inside is a beautiful, probably antique, mandolin. It’s like getting what you want from Santa Claus, except you never thought Santa was also a pervert. This saves me anywhere from a hundred fifty to four hundred dollars easy. It’s perfectly tuned, polished, and ready to play.
Fate smiled on me, seriously, there couldn’t have been a more random meeting, a complete stranger, and he gave me something I’ve been needing for years. How did that happen? How in the world can that be explained?
I think Marvin, my roommate, would have found that story interesting, if only he had the time in his busy life for mindless chatter and personal narrative.
