I Don't Enjoy All Conversation

i was in the line at cala foods just wanting a pack of smokes, but waiting for a couple in front of me to buy far more than the express line should allow.

"whoa," the man before me turned to say, "hey!"

i had no idea who this man was. i eyed him and all i came up with was that he was bald. he was short and he was bald. his shortness made his baldness more apparent because i could look down at the top of his head very easily. he was the sort of bald man that tried to look as though it were a styling choice, though it was clearly because he was going bald and shaving the rest away was better than a comb-over at age thirty.

i just want smokes and i don't know who you are. did we meet when i was drunk? i drink too much.

"have we met?" i asked, while shaking his hand.

"oh! no," he stuttered, "no! hi. yeah, hi. my name is zach. 750! 750 bush?"

i stared at this man. his sentences made no sense to me. for a brief moment, something about his nervousness around me made me feel like a celebrity in some form. he was so anxious to speak but so unready to do so and none of it seemed to matter to him so long as we spoke.

"hi, zach," i said, "it's nice to meet you..."

"yeah, well. yeah. but 750? you work there-- or no! no! you live," he looked in the air confused by his own sentences and then looked at his girlfriend.

"i'm sorry?"

"the parking garage! 750 bush. you live across the street! it's you!" he exclaimed proudly.

oh, you've got to be kidding me.

this stammering bald-headed man was one of the workers at the parking garage from my last apartment. the guys who used my bedroom window as their personal pornographic television on certain nights. and there he was: in front of me, preventing me from getting my smokes and forcing me into a conversation that should've never taken place.

"ahhh," i said, looking at the cala foods cashier while trying to telepathically convince him to speed up the check-out and get this weird man away from me, "yeah. i used to live there. i moved."

"oh!" he seemed alarmed by something, "yeah we would see you. yeah. where did you move?"

this man, and every man at the parking garage, made a point of watching my personal life. i never had curtains because-- at a time-- i slept on the windowsill and had no way of doing so with curtains hanging. this man and his coworkers have probably seen my ballsack more times than certain girls i've been with.

and there was no way in hell he was finding out where my new apartment is. that would only be step 1 toward him asking that we hang out sometime.

"well," i said slowly, "away from the parking garage."

you may have to be me for this post to really make sense.

just. gross.