Stephanie Says
I've mentioned here before that I believe in supporting the homeless. And while I don't regularly give hand-outs to the local pan-handlers in the neighborhood, I do have my moments of kindness (or perhaps weakness), and I do believe that there are undeniable benefits to sometimes lending a hand. Call it karma, call it justice...call it what you like.
But there are boundaries. And that's what make life tough.
About six or seven years ago, I was on a date with a young woman. Let's call her Julie (because that was her name). Julie was awfully nice, but I wasn't really that into her. So why did I keep dating her? I don't really know. I think it was because I was seriously lonely, and because more than a few of the girls I was dating at that time were NOT nice.
It would have been better to stop hanging out under the pretense of dating (and it would have been especially nice not to have hooked up with her in the back of a cab, considering that I knew I wasn't really into her), but for some reason, we went on a handful of awkward dates, neither one of us entirely certain what the others' intentions were. She invited me to parties and continued to be up for hanging out, just because she was cool like that.
In retrospect, she was considerably more mature about the whole thing than I was....
Anyway, we were on this date one night, hanging out at Steton's. (Yes, Stetson's. Fuck you.)
Right as we were walking in, a well-dressed, 50-something African-American woman approached us. She was exceedingly polite and particularly well coiffed. She introduced herself, and asked me if I knew anything about cars.
Despite the fact that I had no earthly reason to want to impress Julie, I responded with a shrug and a lie, saying, "Well, you know....I know a little."
She went on to explain (in much detail) how she had just worked a late night at her law firm in Dupont Circle, and had just locked her purse and her keys in the trunk of her car. Because it was a new model BMW, it had a sophisticated anti-theft device that prevented use of a slim jim. Because it had a chip instead of a key, there was no use in calling a locksmith.
She provided all of this information unsolicited.
She then explained that if we could provide her with $40 cab fare, she could go back to her home in Aspen Hill, get her other set of keys, come back to the bar and pay us back.
It was early in the evening and the date hadn't really started yet, so we both had cash. In fact, with little hesitation, Julie reached into her purse and produced a far larger sum of cash than I was comfortable with. Then, stuck betwixt the option of being a mark and being a cheapskate, I offered the woman a paltry $5.00.
I knew she was lying, and it pained me to part with even a nickel to someone who had gone to such great lengths to be dishonest. But I forked it over anyway.
Julie and I spent a good deal of the remainder of the evening making fun of one another for being such idiots over countless rounds of darts. It was all good natured, but we both seemed disappointed in ourselves for nothing telling the scam artist woman to go to hell.
(Damn....Julie was SUCH a nice girl. Why did I have to lead her on?? Why couldn't I just be honest with her that I just wanted to be friends? Oh, that's right, because I was like 26 and was in such great pain over all of the many rejections I'd experienced lately that I was in a very selfish frame of mind. A total selfish jerk frame of mind, in fact. Dammit, now I'm kind of depressed.)
Anyway, the date ended uneventfully, and in time, Julie and I lost touch. We traded the occasional e-mail for a year or so, and one night I ran into her at the corner of 14th and U. She looked great and she told me that she was moving out to Washington state for grad school, which was always her plan. I was happy for her. It was the last time we spoke.
It's funny how you lose touch with people, only after the fact realizing that you could have been great friends if you'd put your mind to it. I really do regret not being friends with her.
But then there are the other people that you still run into, despite how badly you want to move on with your life.
Enter Stephanie.
Stephanie greeted me at the bottom of the escalator at Union Station last week as I was coming back to the office with a sloppy, lousy gyros for lunch. A depressing prospect, as are most coming out of the Union Station basement. (And, no, I'm not talking about the creepy men's room action down there....)
Stephanie stepped in front of me, pawing at my arm to break through the social buffer that is my iPod. Removing an earbud, I cocked my head as if to ask what she wanted.
"I'm so terribly sorry," she began. "My name is Stephanie. Do you know anything about CRXs? It's a new BMW, and I'm having a terrible time with the locks...."
I stood and listened to the story. Seven years later, I still remembered the details...the anti-theft device, the futility of calling AAA, the cab fare, where her home was....I stood in front of her glowering, waiting for the ask.
Sensing my frustration, she leaned forward and touched my arm again.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so distraught that I forgot to ask your name."
I took a breath and told her that we had met before. My tone was even and my voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the irritation or the lack of sympathy in my voice.
She looked at my quizzically.
"We've met before," I repeated. "You told me the same story almost ten years ago out on Florida Avenue."
"I've never been here before in my life," she spat at me.
I turned and shrugged walking away and heading towards the escalators.
"How dare you offend me!" she shouted in front of a group of tourists in town for the Cherry Blossoms. Maybe she thought that she could shame me, but more likely she was just trying to save face.
"Oh, yes, how dare me?" I shrugged, walking up the stairs of the escalator....silently hoping that a Street Sense vendor would greet me on Mass Ave.
But there are boundaries. And that's what make life tough.
About six or seven years ago, I was on a date with a young woman. Let's call her Julie (because that was her name). Julie was awfully nice, but I wasn't really that into her. So why did I keep dating her? I don't really know. I think it was because I was seriously lonely, and because more than a few of the girls I was dating at that time were NOT nice.
It would have been better to stop hanging out under the pretense of dating (and it would have been especially nice not to have hooked up with her in the back of a cab, considering that I knew I wasn't really into her), but for some reason, we went on a handful of awkward dates, neither one of us entirely certain what the others' intentions were. She invited me to parties and continued to be up for hanging out, just because she was cool like that.
In retrospect, she was considerably more mature about the whole thing than I was....
Anyway, we were on this date one night, hanging out at Steton's. (Yes, Stetson's. Fuck you.)
Right as we were walking in, a well-dressed, 50-something African-American woman approached us. She was exceedingly polite and particularly well coiffed. She introduced herself, and asked me if I knew anything about cars.
Despite the fact that I had no earthly reason to want to impress Julie, I responded with a shrug and a lie, saying, "Well, you know....I know a little."
She went on to explain (in much detail) how she had just worked a late night at her law firm in Dupont Circle, and had just locked her purse and her keys in the trunk of her car. Because it was a new model BMW, it had a sophisticated anti-theft device that prevented use of a slim jim. Because it had a chip instead of a key, there was no use in calling a locksmith.
She provided all of this information unsolicited.
She then explained that if we could provide her with $40 cab fare, she could go back to her home in Aspen Hill, get her other set of keys, come back to the bar and pay us back.
It was early in the evening and the date hadn't really started yet, so we both had cash. In fact, with little hesitation, Julie reached into her purse and produced a far larger sum of cash than I was comfortable with. Then, stuck betwixt the option of being a mark and being a cheapskate, I offered the woman a paltry $5.00.
I knew she was lying, and it pained me to part with even a nickel to someone who had gone to such great lengths to be dishonest. But I forked it over anyway.
Julie and I spent a good deal of the remainder of the evening making fun of one another for being such idiots over countless rounds of darts. It was all good natured, but we both seemed disappointed in ourselves for nothing telling the scam artist woman to go to hell.
(Damn....Julie was SUCH a nice girl. Why did I have to lead her on?? Why couldn't I just be honest with her that I just wanted to be friends? Oh, that's right, because I was like 26 and was in such great pain over all of the many rejections I'd experienced lately that I was in a very selfish frame of mind. A total selfish jerk frame of mind, in fact. Dammit, now I'm kind of depressed.)
Anyway, the date ended uneventfully, and in time, Julie and I lost touch. We traded the occasional e-mail for a year or so, and one night I ran into her at the corner of 14th and U. She looked great and she told me that she was moving out to Washington state for grad school, which was always her plan. I was happy for her. It was the last time we spoke.
It's funny how you lose touch with people, only after the fact realizing that you could have been great friends if you'd put your mind to it. I really do regret not being friends with her.
But then there are the other people that you still run into, despite how badly you want to move on with your life.
Enter Stephanie.
Stephanie greeted me at the bottom of the escalator at Union Station last week as I was coming back to the office with a sloppy, lousy gyros for lunch. A depressing prospect, as are most coming out of the Union Station basement. (And, no, I'm not talking about the creepy men's room action down there....)
Stephanie stepped in front of me, pawing at my arm to break through the social buffer that is my iPod. Removing an earbud, I cocked my head as if to ask what she wanted.
"I'm so terribly sorry," she began. "My name is Stephanie. Do you know anything about CRXs? It's a new BMW, and I'm having a terrible time with the locks...."
I stood and listened to the story. Seven years later, I still remembered the details...the anti-theft device, the futility of calling AAA, the cab fare, where her home was....I stood in front of her glowering, waiting for the ask.
Sensing my frustration, she leaned forward and touched my arm again.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so distraught that I forgot to ask your name."
I took a breath and told her that we had met before. My tone was even and my voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the irritation or the lack of sympathy in my voice.
She looked at my quizzically.
"We've met before," I repeated. "You told me the same story almost ten years ago out on Florida Avenue."
"I've never been here before in my life," she spat at me.
I turned and shrugged walking away and heading towards the escalators.
"How dare you offend me!" she shouted in front of a group of tourists in town for the Cherry Blossoms. Maybe she thought that she could shame me, but more likely she was just trying to save face.
"Oh, yes, how dare me?" I shrugged, walking up the stairs of the escalator....silently hoping that a Street Sense vendor would greet me on Mass Ave.
posted by t-o-n at 5:23 PM
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