How Random Babbling Becomes Corporate Policy (t3knomanser) wrote,
How Random Babbling Becomes Corporate Policy

On Anarchy : The Morning After

I'll spare the details, after all, you don't really want to know. The next morning I woke up at Kristin's place. It was a nice place, but not exceedingly "goth". In fact, the decor was closer to that of a high school girl with a thing for stuffed animals and faires. There were posters of sparkling faries sitting in flowers, or on leaves. When we came in, her bed was covered in stuffed bears and cats and giraffes. A lot of giraffes. The overall, and unexpected effect- it was cute. Very cute.

I woke up before her, and decided to brave someone else's kitchen. Any of you that have attempted that before know how hard it is; a half an hour later I was just starting frying eggs and Kristin walked in, fully dressed. Again, it was a bit of a shock. She was in a powder blue sweater and jeans. Again, cute. "Here, let me get that." According to morning after ritual, I was noble in my suffering for a few moments, then gratefully handed control of the kitchen back to her. "Thank god," she said, "I was worried that you were going to burn the place down."

"Oh, thanks, how sweet."
She smirked. "No, it's honest." She served a plate of scrambled eggs for each of us, toasted some bread and poured a pair of glasses of orange juice.
"Oh, um," I looked at the orange juice. "Okay if I have water instead?"
"Not an OJ man?"
"Errr... no, not really."

She shrugged, tipped my glass down her throat, stood, rinsed, and refilled it with water. "For my part, I can't get enough of the stuff. 'Course, I only drink the organic stuff a friend sends me. He's got his own private orchard."
"Really?" Again, I'll spare you the rest of the smalltalk.

But, suffice it to say, as the conversation wore on, I got more and more tense. The problem was this- the more I talked to Kristin, the more I became aware of two important details. First, I was growing more and more enamoured of her. She was sweet, cute, intelligent. I wanted to see her, and spend time with her. But she was showing me all of the signs of "nice one night stand".

So... blunt time. "You don't want to do this again."
She choked on her orange juice. "Y'know, I have alot of friends that have no tact, but that's impressive." She gave me mock applause. "What makes you say that?"
"Well... the signs... that 'Oh, he was sweet. I'll remember him when I'm setting up someone with a blind date' sorta feel."
She grined. "Okay, then how about this? Doing anything tonight?"
My turn to choke on my water. "Umm... no."
"Good. 11:30, the Starfucks on fourth."
"Uhhh... which Starbucks on fourth?"
"Exactly." She grinned malevolently.
Now I was hurt. "Is that a very nasty turn-down?"
Her grin widened. "Oh, not at all. It's a test."

"Can I ask one more question?"
"Ask lots."
"Why on earth would you want to drink at a Starfucks while living in the city? I mean, there are actually good coffee shops."
Her grin was so wide that I was sure her head was going to split in half. "Oh, don't you know? They put all the good coffee shops out of business. Or at least, are working their damnedest."

At eleven, I stepped into the cab. "Go to the beginning of Fourth street, and go to the other end. I'll tell you when to stop."
"Eh? What?" The cabbie turned to me. "Say that again?" He was the old school variety hack. A bulky Brooklynite that had been in the cab so long that he had grown into the seat.
"You heard me. Go from one end of Fourth to the other. I'm looking for someone."
He shrugged, "It's your dime."

I'll spare you a recounting of the typical conversation. I don't like writing sterotypes.

I eventually found the Starbucks. It was the first floor of a big skyscraper, and it was in flames.


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