I walk into a chain bookstore’s coffee shop and step up to the counter where a teenager that would obviously rather be somewhere else greets me with lackluster enthusiasm. I order a non-fat latte in a monotone voice, then notice a cute girl sitting within earshot, so I offer with more personality to the barista, “How are you tonight?”
My attempt at being chipper sounds forced and after convincing no one I end up just standing around with a slight grin on my face that shouldn’t be there. I glance back over at the girl and watch her reading some magazine, which is thin and has more words than pictures, so I assume it’s something intellectual and this makes her more attractive to me.
It’s Monday night, but I assume that because of the President’s Day holiday things are busier than they would be otherwise. I look around for a table anywhere near this girl, but find that everything is already populated by an interesting mix of high school students, single mothers, three interracial couples and a guy that once tried to get me to join a multi-level marketing scheme that had something to do with cell phones.
The girl takes a bite from her waffle and I make eye contact with her and put forth a lame attempt at a smile. Confused, she looks back to her magazine and pretends to go back to reading it, even though I know she’s wondering if I’m going to come up and talk to her. My latte comes out, breaks my concentration and I hurredly retreat into the Christian Inspiration section of the bookstore, a section that I have never been in before.
I pick up a book called 3*16 and even though I know that it’s referring to a scripture verse, I pick it up anyway because my name is Jon and I was born on March 16th. I open the book, half expecting that it will be able to tell me what that strange coincidence means, but put it back on the shelf before reading a single word.
My iPhone keeps going off and I wonder if I’m the only person that is reminded of Justin Long when I hear the Apple Marimba ringtone? I make my way over to fiction, making sure to casually walk past the coffee shop to see if the girl is still there. She is and I decide its best to round up a pile of impressive books before sitting down, just in case she happens to notice what I’m reading. Once I have my pile of literature, I move into the coffee shop seating area, but cannot find anything close to the girl. I take off my messenger bag and instantly feel eleven pounds lighter.
Now, I’m slowly placing my books on the table, spine end towards her, as if she might notice the titles from twenty yards away. I’m reconsidering my book selection, not because I don’t love the authors, but because Ellis, Palahniuk and Fitzgerald make me look more like a psychopath than an intellectual. Why did I think this girl would be impressed by a series of well-articulated moral decline?
As I stare at her from across the room, hiding behind a recycled coffee sleeve I see an apron draped over her bag toting a CinemaRocks patch. She is standing up now and as she looks in my direction I pretend to be falling in love with Cecilia Brady. My coffee mistress leaves her magazine on the table, throws a nylon Jansport backpack with a University of Texas logo and an Obama ’08 patch over her shoulder and turns for the door, seemingly leaving my life forever.
When she’s out of sight, I casually walk over to her former table and inspect the magazine she was reading. Movie Maker Magazine. With that, I’m in love and there’s only one thing to do. Point web browser to google.com and type these words: site:myspace.com female “university of texas” film obama. I don’t even have to leave page one of Google and there is my love. I visit her MySpace profile, send message, see what happens. How are you using social media in your world?
