Goth Boy report du jour. Goth Girl not on the bus. AGAIN. Where is she?
Goth Boy got on. I couldn't tell if he was wearing his usual t-shirt because he had a sweatshirt on over the t-shirt, with the hood of the sweatshirt pulled over his baseball cap because you sure don't want your baseball cap to get wet.
NB Am I the only person in the bus system who understands the function of an umbrella? Because I am often the only person I see using one in the rain.
GB got on, but then walked right past my seat. I caught his eye and nodded and he nodded back. I wanted him to sit next to me so I could interrogate him, but he did not. He is a shy fawn from the forest, a scared wee mouse hiding under the chair. He will bolt if approached too quickly. I must gain his trust.
Perhaps I should bring treats on the bus: a handful of cookies, a slice of pizza. What entices a teenage boy? Other than teenage girls, of course.
I wanted to ask him where GG was. I wanted to suss out his living situation. Casually - So? Do you usually take the bus? Or do your parents drive you to things? What sports do you do? Oh - baseball? Did your dad teach you to throw?
I would gain his confidence by opening up to him first, though. "I had to do this stupid team building thing at work," I would say. "The woman was sooooo nice but she talked about how water picks up the emotion written on the test tube. I wanted to tell her that our CEO has degrees in chemistry and physics and even though we should pray for him a lot, he is not stupid. I myself got an A in college physics - albeit self-paced physics - and am pretty sure that water does not change its crystalline structure depending on the emotional state of the people around it."
He would laugh at the Wooo-wooo!-ness of it all and then I would admit that despite the emotional water and then the three minutes of silent deep breathing that this woman turned out to be a fabulous facilitator who totally called the CEO on his bullshit and that I have already connected with her on LinkedIn. "KnowwhatImean?" I would ask him.
Again, he would laugh and say, "Man I HEAR you!" as he shook his head at the weirdness of it all.
Then I would tell him how boring it is to sit in meetings from 8:30 to 5:00 and the stress of not knowing if the meeting will actually end at 5:00 so you can make the 5:11 bus and saying something about it to the CEO, who snaps, "It will take how long it takes," which makes you want to say back, "Dude. I am not emotionally invested in this company the way you are. I am here for a paycheck and even that is not enough to keep me around right now."
He would say, "Tell me about it! Remember high school and sitting in class all day when all you wanted to do was wxyz?"
I would grin and say, "Well, wxyz was not on my agenda when I was in high school, but I read a lot of fiction, so can well understand."
Then he would sigh and say, "What's THE DEAL with teenage girls?"
I would say, "Dude" (not really, because I don't say "Dude" unless I am mocking someone with a limited vocabulary), "Dude, all I can tell you is that it gets better once you are out of high school. Do you really want the best years of your life to be right now? No you do not. You want to know that things get better, not that they go downhill from here."
He would say, "But I just want to take her out to dinner."
Then I would say, "OK. Here's a plan. Don't laugh! Here's what you need to do. You need to take a shower and shave and put on a clean shirt. It can be a concert t-shirt, but it needs to be clean. You need to put your iphone away. You are going to give her your full attention. Then you are going to - DO NOT LAUGH! - buy some flowers. Four dollars at Sendik's. You are going to go to her house, ring the bell, introduce yourself to her parents, then ask for her. Then you are going to say, 'I would like to take you on a date.'"
By now, all the blood would have drained from his face.
"Women love it when men put their ego at risk," I would say. "She might say no. She might say yes. If she says no, I promise you that 20 years from now, she will be telling her friends about the amazing guy who slew the high school version of a dragon to ask her out. Twenty years from now, she will be saying, 'What ever happened to Goth Boy? I sure hope I see him at the reunion.' And then when you do, when your skin is better and you stand up straight and dress sharp and have your own business, she will rue the day she turned you down. You will be gracious to her, of course, but the 20 years from now version of Dakota Fanning will be tugging on your arm, saying, 'Sweetie, the Rolls is double parked.'"
I see that happening. Do you?