quietpill
I'm bleeding, I'm not just making conversation.
- Nov 27, 2024
- 39
When I was 18 years old, fresh into my retail career, a middle aged white woman stepped into my check-out line. She was wearing a Pilates/yoga outfit, and had neat, chin-length bobbed brown-blond hair. I remember he so well because we had a dead silent interaction until the end when her hand cramped. She sighed, looked me in the eyes, and said: "I thought I did everything right." Just like that, irreverently she continued: "You know, I've spent my whole life watching my health, exercising, drinking GREEN smoothies, the ones that are good for you! And yet, my body is still falling apart, no matter what I do." If I had to guess, she was mid to late thirties, maybe early forties. After admitting it, she looked down at her cramped had and flexed it out playfully at me, spreading her fingers wide like a bird wing before she laughed. And she smiled at me, and she said: "I made it ten years longer than my mother when her body gave out, at least!" And she seemed so pleased at herself for being funny. It was funny. I laughed and I've never forgotten her since.
She's preserved in my mind, her perspective one I'm turning over even now, seven years later.
Another time, my customer was an elderly black man on a bicycle. He had what looked like a suede suit on, complete with a fancy hat. It's hard to know for sure though because the memorable part was that every inch of the suit, from his hat to the cuffs of his jacket and pants, were covered in lines of soda tabs strung back-to-back like clappers. I cannot understate that it was every inch, there were thousands upon THOUSANDS. We didn't make more than typical small talk, all he came in for was a coke and he was incredibly pleasant with a very content smile despite riding that suede chain mail through Phoenix, Arizona in the dead of summer. When he left and got on his bike to go, he sounded and looked like the closest approximation of a knight in shining armor I've seen to this day.
Last, was a greasy, grungy, emaciated man who had a history (and, frankly, the smell) of substance abuse and survival all over him. The sort who could've been anywhere between 25 and 40 years old, easily. He stopped me in my tracks, the only other person walking on the road at 4am, and I remember so well because he scared me. He'd been heading the complete opposite direction, brushed by me, and did a 180 that I knew was meant for me. I froze up, expecting to have the worst night of my life, when he asked for directions to the exact intersection I was walking towards and working at. I kept calm, even as he took it upon himself to start walking next to me. To his credit he asked, and it was the direction he needed to go, but I wasn't going to run the risk of saying "no". I think he sensed my awkwardness anyways, because he began talking to me about how he just had a stint in jail, again (This was not so reassuring in the moment). Then, for the rest of our fifteen minute talk, he told me about his mother that he was walking to see. I felt I learned a great deal more about her than him, but I really only remember the endearing affection in his tone and smile. All he did was thank me for the directions after walking me to my gas station, and offer me a cigarette I kindly declined. He's still someone I think about when wondering if I should give a stranger the benefit of the doubt.
It's probably all just long-winded and cheesy, romanticized to hell, but I talk about these people (and to their mental apparitions) more than my own family, as silly as that may seem. They haunt me like ghosts, and what's worse is that they're terribly good company. Does anybody else have any memorable encounters? I'd love to hear stories, if only to know I'm not the only one etching strangers into my mind like stone.
She's preserved in my mind, her perspective one I'm turning over even now, seven years later.
Another time, my customer was an elderly black man on a bicycle. He had what looked like a suede suit on, complete with a fancy hat. It's hard to know for sure though because the memorable part was that every inch of the suit, from his hat to the cuffs of his jacket and pants, were covered in lines of soda tabs strung back-to-back like clappers. I cannot understate that it was every inch, there were thousands upon THOUSANDS. We didn't make more than typical small talk, all he came in for was a coke and he was incredibly pleasant with a very content smile despite riding that suede chain mail through Phoenix, Arizona in the dead of summer. When he left and got on his bike to go, he sounded and looked like the closest approximation of a knight in shining armor I've seen to this day.
Last, was a greasy, grungy, emaciated man who had a history (and, frankly, the smell) of substance abuse and survival all over him. The sort who could've been anywhere between 25 and 40 years old, easily. He stopped me in my tracks, the only other person walking on the road at 4am, and I remember so well because he scared me. He'd been heading the complete opposite direction, brushed by me, and did a 180 that I knew was meant for me. I froze up, expecting to have the worst night of my life, when he asked for directions to the exact intersection I was walking towards and working at. I kept calm, even as he took it upon himself to start walking next to me. To his credit he asked, and it was the direction he needed to go, but I wasn't going to run the risk of saying "no". I think he sensed my awkwardness anyways, because he began talking to me about how he just had a stint in jail, again (This was not so reassuring in the moment). Then, for the rest of our fifteen minute talk, he told me about his mother that he was walking to see. I felt I learned a great deal more about her than him, but I really only remember the endearing affection in his tone and smile. All he did was thank me for the directions after walking me to my gas station, and offer me a cigarette I kindly declined. He's still someone I think about when wondering if I should give a stranger the benefit of the doubt.
It's probably all just long-winded and cheesy, romanticized to hell, but I talk about these people (and to their mental apparitions) more than my own family, as silly as that may seem. They haunt me like ghosts, and what's worse is that they're terribly good company. Does anybody else have any memorable encounters? I'd love to hear stories, if only to know I'm not the only one etching strangers into my mind like stone.
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