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Description
Nothing like internalized self-reflection to fill the slow hours of a work shift! Before I knew it, it was seven-thirty and Li - sorry - Lady M tapped me on the shoulder to let me know she was on her way out.

On weekend nights when she has a drag show, Lady M opens the store and I close. It works and I appreciate her trust in me. Of course, this means that I never get to see her shows (not that I’m old enough to go to the clubs she performs in, anyway) but I know how awesome she is since she’s shown me her videos - even her audition tape for RuPaul’s Drag Race!

An hour-and-a-half later, I wheeled my bike out and locked-up. Boy was I surprised to see the “flouncy-haired swain” waiting outside, sitting on the hood of his car. He waved me over, looking nervous.

“Um, hey, Deena?” he said.

Now, ladies, I know it’s wrong to approach near-complete strangers after dark and him just showing up was vaguely stalkery, but I do have some pretty awesome superpowers and, well, his vibe didn’t suggest a threat of any kind. So, yeah, I walked over to see what he wanted.

Essentially, he just wanted to apologize. He said that he’d been bothered by how he had spoken to me earlier in the afternoon. He registered how thrown I’d been by his referring to me as “Desert Girl” and realized too late that bringing up a traumatic experience is probably not the ideal way to initiate a conversation with somebody. He’d been kicking himself all day and, as he was driving by and saw that I was closing up the shop, decided he should apologize.

I let him off the hook (really, he seemed cutely remorseful) and said he could call me D.J.

He formally introduced himself as Carlos Diaz and he was a 21 year-old student at UCEM. A Literature major, which means we might’ve been classmates had my parents’ deaths and my later desert escapade hadn’t derailed that scholarship I’d received after graduating high school.

Carlos seemed very nice and as we chatted his awkwardness receded a bit. Until towards the end of our little meet when he suggested we get together sometime.

“So, uh, coffee,” he stated in a non sequitur.

“Is good? Is a beverage? Is the primary export of Brazil?” I cheekily prodded.

“Uh, no. I mean, yes, to all of those. But maybe- I was wondering- You know, maybe we could-”

It was both adorable and painful to watch, so I tried to help, “You want to go out for coffee sometime?”

“Yes!” he replied with a big, appreciative gulp.

In an assuring gesture, he left the likelihood of a coffee date up to me and offered me his digits, transferring them over with a tap from his phone to my Q-Bit. And then, with another wave, and a “It was really nice to meet you, D.J.”, he got in his beat-up old muscle car and drove off.

I got on my bike and began riding for home, kind of bemused at the turn my day had taken. A date? Maybe? Sometime? With this cute dork?

Well, why not? Stranger things have-

Description
Nothing like internalized self-reflection to fill the slow hours of a work shift! Before I knew it, it was seven-thirty and Li - sorry - Lady M tapped me on the shoulder to let me know she was on her way out.

On weekend nights when she has a drag show, Lady M opens the store and I close. It works and I appreciate her trust in me. Of course, this means that I never get to see her shows (not that I’m old enough to go to the clubs she performs in, anyway) but I know how awesome she is since she’s shown me her videos - even her audition tape for RuPaul’s Drag Race!

An hour-and-a-half later, I wheeled my bike out and locked-up. Boy was I surprised to see the “flouncy-haired swain” waiting outside, sitting on the hood of his car. He waved me over, looking nervous.

“Um, hey, Deena?” he said.

Now, ladies, I know it’s wrong to approach near-complete strangers after dark and him just showing up was vaguely stalkery, but I do have some pretty awesome superpowers and, well, his vibe didn’t suggest a threat of any kind. So, yeah, I walked over to see what he wanted.

Essentially, he just wanted to apologize. He said that he’d been bothered by how he had spoken to me earlier in the afternoon. He registered how thrown I’d been by his referring to me as “Desert Girl” and realized too late that bringing up a traumatic experience is probably not the ideal way to initiate a conversation with somebody. He’d been kicking himself all day and, as he was driving by and saw that I was closing up the shop, decided he should apologize.

I let him off the hook (really, he seemed cutely remorseful) and said he could call me D.J.

He formally introduced himself as Carlos Diaz and he was a 21 year-old student at UCEM. A Literature major, which means we might’ve been classmates had my parents’ deaths and my later desert escapade hadn’t derailed that scholarship I’d received after graduating high school.

Carlos seemed very nice and as we chatted his awkwardness receded a bit. Until towards the end of our little meet when he suggested we get together sometime.

“So, uh, coffee,” he stated in a non sequitur.

“Is good? Is a beverage? Is the primary export of Brazil?” I cheekily prodded.

“Uh, no. I mean, yes, to all of those. But maybe- I was wondering- You know, maybe we could-”

It was both adorable and painful to watch, so I tried to help, “You want to go out for coffee sometime?”

“Yes!” he replied with a big, appreciative gulp.

In an assuring gesture, he left the likelihood of a coffee date up to me and offered me his digits, transferring them over with a tap from his phone to my Q-Bit. And then, with another wave, and a “It was really nice to meet you, D.J.”, he got in his beat-up old muscle car and drove off.

I got on my bike and began riding for home, kind of bemused at the turn my day had taken. A date? Maybe? Sometime? With this cute dork?

Well, why not? Stranger things have-