Cute Museum Guy
I have to do community service for the drunk driving conviction. I say have to, but I don’t mind doing it. I was really kind of hoping it might metamorph into some kind of permanent thing, a way of helping others and getting out of myself and making some new friends outside of my current circle.
Those hopes were seemingly dashed the first time I came in for my orientation. I’m volunteering at an art museum. The orientation was kind of like: you will clean, you will follow the stuff on this list, sign up for a time or just show up, but if you sign up for a time, be here, and don’t talk to anyone, oh, and when your probation is over, you don’t get to volunteer here anymore. I was sufficiently scared to speak with a staff member beyond saying, “I finished mopping. Is there anything else for me to do?”
And then the second time I showed up to work late in the afternoon, and after I got done sweeping, someone sent me on an errand to the drug store to get some cookies. I felt like I got a promotion. One of the staff members went at the same time. He was getting cigarettes, and I told him he should have told me he was going, as I would have just brought back his cigarettes. What have I just done? I talked to one of them.
Too late now. He smiled. I came back and arranged the cookies on a plate. Five minutes later, one of them had been eaten, and I said, “Did you eat the cookie?” Nope. That was some big-wig director, or something.
Yesterday I went in to volunteer, and did the usual janitor work. I wanted to take the trash out, but before I did someone said that I ought to talk to, hmm…what shall I call him…Cute Museum Guy. So, I caught up with Cute Museum Guy and called him, “Hey, you!” That’s cause I’m great with a clever line. Really. I swear, men the world over are impressed with my witty repartee. I have references.
Cute Museum Guy had work for me the whole day. I was actually doing something useful. I did some cleaning and some organizing, and when I left I knew it looked noticeably better than before I arrived. And you know what I realized about two hours into this thing? I was flirting with Cute Museum Guy. I haven’t flirted with anyone in, like, seven or eight months. That’s like not breathing for seven or eight months. But frankly ever since what happened to me in December, I haven’t felt like it.
One of the Mr. Brewsters suggested internet dating a couple months ago, and I said, “You know how you hear about those unfortunate people who are trapped in their own bathrooms, or in the mountains by an avalanche, during a mountain climbing expedition? And you know how you hear those stories about how they have to sever their own limb in order to survive? I would rather be one of those people than to have to date again.” I could have added that I wasn’t too sure about the undate, either, at that moment.
Cute Museum Guy was born when I was in junior high school. He played “OPP” by Naughty by Nature and The Traveling Wilburys on his computer while we were working. I said, “Oh. My. God. Old school. That song (“OPP”) was popular when I was in college! How old were you?” I think he was all of nine.
Cute Museum Guy spent equal time flirting with the UT intern, ‘cause he’s an equal opportunity flirter like that. This is just fun. Like candy. Maybe I will write a silly poem about it one day.
I still haven’t changed my mind about internet dating.
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