One day last September, I picked up my mail at my post office box.  Just outside the post office, but still inside the mall, sat an attractive woman on a bench scratching her lottery tickets.  I sat down on the bench near her to go through my mail.  I minded my business, but I could feel her staring at me.  When I looked up and smiled she said, “Hi.”

To be polite I said, “Hi.”  That is as far as I wanted the conversation to go.

“Bills?” she asked.

“Oh no, just letters from the tax people,” I said.

“My name is Joanne,” she said.

I did not want to talk, but I did not want to be rude.

“My name is Gary.”

During the conversation that followed, I learned through her meta-talk that she was available; she was available, and that she was available.  And on she went.

If I was in a different space, then I would have taken her up on being available.  She was attractive and pleasant.  But I had no interest in having a relationship.  I finally invented an excuse and politely left.

After that, I worried about whether I would see her every time I went to the post office.  I occasionally did several times during October and November.  I was polite and talked to her.  Actually she did most of the talking.  I was polite and listened to her, and as soon as I could I invented some excuse about why I had to go.

I did not want another woman telling me how it’s not good for me to be alone, and how my life would improve if I shared it with her.

I did not see Joanne after November.  Soon, I lost the tension I felt approaching the post office worrying, “Am I going to see Joanne?”

Yesterday, there she was on the same bench in the same spot scratching her lottery tickets.  She looked up at me as I walked by.  I smiled at her.  Then she quickly looked away giving me the *OhNo!-NoLook.  I kept walking.  I went into the post office and picked up my mail.  When I came out she looked up at me and then quickly buried her face in her lottery tickets.

What a relief!  I know she saw me and pretended that she did not.  But I did not have to worry about being polite and talking to her, and then inventing an excuse to leave.

I have no idea why Joanne did not want to talk to me.  Perhaps she found out that I move my lips when I read, and like books with lots of pictures.  Who knows?  I don’t care why.  Her rejection means my trips to the post office will be quick with no worries about having to listen to a lonely woman.

Thank you, Joanne, your rejection means so much to me!




About Gary Johnston

I am an imaginary number -- a symbol used to count and measure. As Senior Imaginary Number at Einstein Equations Incorporated, I facilitate the calculation of the impossible.

Posted on May 18, 2016, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. I’m confused—didn’t you pretty much reject her?

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