I’m working in a café today, and the guy next to me is making me smile. He’s an African American gentleman, probably in his 50s…and well, he’s the poster child for anti-mobility. He’s using an old Dell laptop and talking on one of those old, ginormous cell phones with the extending black plastic antennas. His large laptop is in a docking station and he has a mouse connected. His “mouse pad” is a 12-inch round, half-inch thick carved wooden tchotzke (sp?). And the best part? He has an all-in-one printer/scanner/FAX set up. If I were any more of a dick, I’d take a photograph of him, but even I have my limits.
I chatted with him while he packed up (a lengthy process as you might imagine), and my assumption that he was kind was right on. But his gray eyes are watery and shifty, they don’t seem to be focusing on the here and now as he talks, making me suspect that he’s traveled a long way and left little bits of himself behind at each of his stops.
So many things to bring a smile in this city.
. . .
Okay, it’s an hour later. The anti-mobility maven is long gone. In his place is a woman who has the face of a 65-year-old and the body of a 16-year-old -- in good shape. She’s wearing those black, skin-tight pedal pushers, black tennis shoes, and a black exercise jacket. Her computer is a nice, new 17-inch black HP with the glossy black fascia. Her hair is blond, and in a cute little pigtail. She is typing as I write this…at her side is a printout of an exercise schedule that I believe she is updating (the copy has lots of notes scribbled on it). As she types, her lips move in concert with her fingertips.
Her body is positively perfect. I think her brain may have been short-sheeted, but her body. My god. The incongruity of face and body is somewhat creepy, in a Stepford kinda way. To be honest, she’s kind of freaking me out.
Still amused. Back to work.
*March 6, 2008 (delayed post)