2003-09-23

If I go to a coffee shop by myself, it�s an obvious sign that I want to make new friends, right? Because sitting alone in a corner hunched over a book is a clear cry for help, isn�t it? Oh please, kind sir! Seduce me with your charming mental indigence! I�m only carrying around this fancy-looking book in the hopes that you�ll ask me retarded questions about it, as so:

Social Maladroit: [peering over my shoulder] Is that a good book?

Me: [rolling eyes] Yes.

SM: �Ulysses��so, is it like, you know, the original story of Ulysses? But, like, updated to modern times?

Me: Something like that.

SM: James Joyce�I think I read one of his books. It was a long time ago, though. I don�t remember the title.

Me: Uh-huh.

SM: He�s a British author, right?

Me: [contemptuously] Irish.

SM: Oh�it can�t have been him, then. The author I read was British.

Thank you again, sir, for putting those five minutes of my life, which I will never get back, to such good use. I admire you for your endearing lack of shame in the face of your own glaring ignorance. It�s refreshing! So much so that I want to have sex with you RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW. We can have a threesome with my erstwhile literary suitor, Mr. Frost/Not Frost.