Missed Connections

Specimen #1:

A good looking young lad who walks into the store. He is tall, fair haired and has all the attributes that would persuade one to describe him as "strapping." I smile and give him a convincing, "Hey, how's it going?" Not too keenly as one must always be impartial when interacting with customers. Would not want to discriminate even though there are tingles in my fingers.

He lines up. So politely.
"Hi," he says when he gets to the front. "I'm not buying anything but I just wanted to drop off my resume. Is that okay?"
"Of course," I say and take it from him. Nicely printed. Good size font. Everything seems to be in order.
"Thanks!"

I serve the next few customers and, at the first possible opportunity, have a squiz at his resume. There are a few grammatical errors but at least no errors of the spelling denomination. Grammar is harder; it is excusable! But there it is, on the last page; an inexcusable fact that stops my spring wedding planning in its tracks.

Born in 1996.

The devastation. The desolation. I am gone and done for.

Specimen #2:

It is nearly closing time. In fact, it is closing time and I am keen for a close. The heat and subpar airconditioning has tested my limits. So has the Bintang singlet wearing man who chose to tell me to, "Fucking hurry up." Yes, it is a pleasure to serve you indeed.

He walks in. He is some kind of mystery ethnicity. My favourite kind. He walks up, tells me that he bought a hardrive yesterday (I am riveted) but is not convinced the girl who sold it to him gave him the exact model he was after. I humour him, he who chooses to come in with a potential return five minutes to closing. He of mysterious ethnicity and pleasing smile.

I go about my business; I am very professional. Friendly but not flirtatious. Cards close to chest, always. I convince him that he is holding in his hands the very hardrive he is after, just in the silver and not the black. The codes match, my friend.

Our codes could match too.

I will never know as he leaves after we are done with a grateful smile and a quenched mind. It was not meant to be.

J