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garoteI walked into the IHOP and a short Mexican woman motioned for me to come over, then patted a table, smiling. She spoke absolutely no English, and the waitress was in the kitchen. So I smiled and sat down, and she continued cleaning. Later on in the evening we would teach each other the Spanish and English words for knife, fork, and spoon. She is a single mom renting in Oceanside, working several jobs to keep her four children in school. She came from Mexico more than twelve years ago.
The man at the table next to me, the only other customer, grew up in Texas before moving here. He made his money waiting tables at a gourmet restaurant, where the tips usually ran more than 400 dollars a day. He took that money and invested in stocks, and with the profit he bought himself a BMW and moved into a swank San Diego apartment. Then the market took a shit, he moved out of his apartment, and he's thinking of selling his car. He just turned 30 a few weeks ago, and it worries him that he hasn't settled down, ... but not too much. He mostly lives his life for clubs and bars and women. Just the same, he hates Tijuana, because "Everything there is one big hustle." When he was 13, girls at his school called him Duckie because he resembled John Cryer in Pretty In Pink. He talks like he's slightly buzzed, and has a hard time listening. He saw Severed Heads in concert when he was young, and loved them.
The girl who served me was 19 years old. Half Irish, half German, with stark golden-red hair in a pony tail, and six feet, three inches tall. The night shift at IHOP is her other job. She also works as a receptionist, answering phones for four hours. She sleeps days at her mother's house, though it's hard because her mother runs a daycare. Her parents are divorced and her father, a retired career army man who worked his way up to Master Sergeant, remarried a half-insane woman who is jealous of her independent nature. This girl wants to teach and play basketball, but can work towards neither, as she tries to support herself. Her father gives her nothing, even though he is very well off. She is engaged to a military man who is currently away on duty. They've known each other for eight months now, and he's constantly calling her, afraid that she's going to dump him for a non-military man. They plan to get married next February. The girl has a soft mezzo-soprano voice and a very calm, dedicated aura. Her eyes are an alarming grey-yellow mixture.
I'm a 26-year-old computer geek who has ambitions of being a musician, likes to write and sing, and played in Rocky Horror for a year. I used to play massive network computer games at midnight in the labs. My first real job was as an ice-cream scooper, but I recently got lucky with a good contract job and paid my debts and bought a good car. My social life in Southern California has been a strikeout, and I'm itching to move north. I don't drink or smoke or go to clubs or bars, and so, I have little to do here, or so I've told myself, though I suspect it's not true. I'm self-effacing, almost embarrassed, at my ability to think and talk with precision, so I add extra pauses and slurs to my words, thinking this will put the other two at ease.
100 minutes later we all part ways. It amazes me we could talk at all, let alone for that long, with our very different backgrounds.
People are funny.
The man at the table next to me, the only other customer, grew up in Texas before moving here. He made his money waiting tables at a gourmet restaurant, where the tips usually ran more than 400 dollars a day. He took that money and invested in stocks, and with the profit he bought himself a BMW and moved into a swank San Diego apartment. Then the market took a shit, he moved out of his apartment, and he's thinking of selling his car. He just turned 30 a few weeks ago, and it worries him that he hasn't settled down, ... but not too much. He mostly lives his life for clubs and bars and women. Just the same, he hates Tijuana, because "Everything there is one big hustle." When he was 13, girls at his school called him Duckie because he resembled John Cryer in Pretty In Pink. He talks like he's slightly buzzed, and has a hard time listening. He saw Severed Heads in concert when he was young, and loved them.
The girl who served me was 19 years old. Half Irish, half German, with stark golden-red hair in a pony tail, and six feet, three inches tall. The night shift at IHOP is her other job. She also works as a receptionist, answering phones for four hours. She sleeps days at her mother's house, though it's hard because her mother runs a daycare. Her parents are divorced and her father, a retired career army man who worked his way up to Master Sergeant, remarried a half-insane woman who is jealous of her independent nature. This girl wants to teach and play basketball, but can work towards neither, as she tries to support herself. Her father gives her nothing, even though he is very well off. She is engaged to a military man who is currently away on duty. They've known each other for eight months now, and he's constantly calling her, afraid that she's going to dump him for a non-military man. They plan to get married next February. The girl has a soft mezzo-soprano voice and a very calm, dedicated aura. Her eyes are an alarming grey-yellow mixture.
I'm a 26-year-old computer geek who has ambitions of being a musician, likes to write and sing, and played in Rocky Horror for a year. I used to play massive network computer games at midnight in the labs. My first real job was as an ice-cream scooper, but I recently got lucky with a good contract job and paid my debts and bought a good car. My social life in Southern California has been a strikeout, and I'm itching to move north. I don't drink or smoke or go to clubs or bars, and so, I have little to do here, or so I've told myself, though I suspect it's not true. I'm self-effacing, almost embarrassed, at my ability to think and talk with precision, so I add extra pauses and slurs to my words, thinking this will put the other two at ease.
100 minutes later we all part ways. It amazes me we could talk at all, let alone for that long, with our very different backgrounds.
People are funny.
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no subject
Date: 2002-07-10 08:20 am (UTC)What part did you play in Rocky Horror?
Do you like Karaoke?
no subject
Date: 2002-07-10 02:50 pm (UTC)Rocky Horror: There I am, on the leftl.
Karaoke: I love it, except I can never find a place that has any music I feel like singing. The closest any place came was "Jailhouse Rock" by Elvis, but they wanted me to buy three fucking drinks before I could participate. Fuck 'em.
Re:
Date: 2002-07-10 03:03 pm (UTC)My friends and I often go to The Crazy Burro on El Camino Real in Carlsbad/Encinitas for karaoke. They have it every Friday on the patio and it's loads of fun. No drink minimum! And free chips and salsa!
no subject
Date: 2002-07-12 11:50 am (UTC)As for the music selection, they have these big binders of songs to choose from. There are supposed to be over 4,000 there...
This is where I am nearly EVERY night...even though I don't sing at all...but the people and the atmosphere there are cool, so its still fun :)
no subject
Date: 2002-08-23 01:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-07-10 09:05 am (UTC)I love talking to strangers as well, and am good at it, but I always seem to hit this wall at some point where I freak them out of something. lol Heretic starts to ask strange questions.
no subject
Date: 2002-07-10 02:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-07-10 12:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-07-10 02:53 pm (UTC)You know, I second that observation: I've never had good luck talking to people on planes, either.
no subject
Date: 2002-07-12 11:21 am (UTC)I did much the same thing you did, Garrett -- just started walking up to people and talking to them. This especially started with shy, but pretty women that I knew I would probably not meet any other way. :)
no subject
Date: 2002-07-13 07:34 pm (UTC)what do you wanna do with your life?!?!?
i wanna rock. \m/
no subject
Date: 2002-07-15 09:02 am (UTC)