Missed Connection

I got hit on in my favorite way yesterday: at a red light. Timing is so crucial since you have 90 seconds to get your best "hey 'sup?" look and grin across traffic and through the distractions of stop light texting and frantic radio station surfing. I wish we had more time together... I hope you see this.

There you were, leering at me through your open passenger window, waiting for me to look up from my iPod. You were in a red truck not quite big enough to hang those classy truck nuts off the hitch, but you did anyway. Instantly I was interested.

I was in the right turn lane, white Honda all squeaky clean thanks to the rain, window down to allow the humidity to make my face oily and my hair frizzy. My eyeliner was all smudged; I know because I saw it when I left work, but I was all like "whatever I'm just going home." Little did I know I'd run into you.

I saw you as I put my iPod back in the cup holder. You were not wearing a shirt. Your tan lines indicate you spend a lot of time outside in a t-shirt. I like the outdoorsy type. Your $5.99 Circle K sunglasses hid your cool stare, but I felt the gleam in your eye. This was confirmed when you took them off to wink at me. Your smile showed that you had most of your teeth, but no concept of dental hygiene.

I smiled, as is polite. I felt your stare boring into me when I focused on the car ahead of me. It was almost too much. I fought the urge to climb across cars and into your lap. I turned my attention to your truck. Red and rusty, worn but still useful. That's good. I don't like guys who are too flashy. You had a "Student of the Month" bumper sticker. I swooned at the thought of your virility. Or maybe, since the truck was definitely older than you are, you were once that prestigious student of the month. I love a thinkin' man.

Our time was coming to a close, I could tell. The left lane was turning. Your lane would be given the green light of go time soon. I choked on my own lust. Or maybe it was the fumes from the gas tanker fueling the Hess on the corner of 301 and MLK.

You broke the ice first. "I like that song!" you shouted. I like it too. That's why I put it on my iPod and subsequently played it in my car. I smiled and looked away, my shyness getting the best of me. "Hey meet me at the gas station. We can talk." Your words came out thick like exhaust from your bent tailpipe. I smiled once more, brushing my bangs out of my eyes, pointing that I was turning right, away from our torrid rendezvous.

And like that, it was over, as quickly as it began. I got swept up with the traffic and continued my battle through Brandon to get home. In my rear-view mirror I saw that you had "Redneck Boyz" in vinyl lettering on your windshield.

God, I should have gone to that gas station. If for no other reason than to throw up.