Dear woman with the hair colored blue, I think I should come talk to you. We probably like the same things. Yet I am rooted here in my plastic chair, munching away on my teriyaki chicken, face buried in a laptop, while you are over there on the other side of the restaurant, eyes glued to your phone. Suddenly, this place feels ten thousand feet long. Are there lava pits between us? I think there are.
Who are you, I wonder? Would you welcome a stranger walking up to say hello? Or would you reach for pepper spray and bring me to my knees? The shirt says ‘Sons of Anarchy’, but it’s just a shirt – I swear!
How would the conversation go?
* * *
“Hey. Love the hair.”
“Wow. That’s creepy. You’re creepy. Manager! Manager! This creepy guy is bothering me!”
*dies*
***
“Hey. Love the hair.”
*pepper spray*
*screams of agony as I writhe on the floor*
***
“Hey. Love the hair.”
“¿Cómo dice? No entiendo Inglés.”
O_o?
* * *
“Hey. Love the hair.”
“I love guns. Want to see mine?”
*squeaks like a monkey-backs away*
* * *
“Hey. Love the hair.”
“Thanks. I dyed it to show my solidarity with the Smurfs, who have been repressed as a species for years. My friend *points to an empty chair* and I are part of the Smurf Liberation Front and we’re recruiting. Have you accepted Papa Smurf as your Lord and savior?”
*slowly backs away*
* * *
“Hey. Love the hair.”
“Thanks! Care to join me?”
* * *
~P
