Wednesday, January 25, 2012

At the ERC

I do a lot of my work at this one coffee shop: it used to be called The ERC, but now it's called something different.  However, I can't be bothered to make the change in my head, so that's what I still call it.  I'm at the ERC right now.

And I'm not the only person who comes here all the time.  I'm sure a lot of these people are here 40 hours a week, working on their philosophy dissertation or scribbling on a legal pad and periodically looking in a thesaurus. I don't know what those people's deal is.  But this is just to say, there are a lot of complete strangers that I feel like I know pretty well because I hear fragments of their conversations, know their cell phone ringtones, recognize their coughs and grunts and slurps and sighs because I listen to them for hours and hours every week.  

So, today I came in and sat down at a table near the window.  I was unpacking my laptop when I looked down at my jacket and pulled what I thought was a green string off my sleeve.  Then I realized what it was and was like, Dammit, Trixie.

Because it wasn't a string, it was a hair.  And I knew who it belonged to, even though I'm not actually formally acquainted with her.  Any data I have on Trixie I've collected in the form of context clues which...well, Trixie's just one big walking context clue.

Trixie comes in here mostly on weekends, but as today is Wednesday and I've got one of her peacock green hairs on me after sitting here for seven minutes, she's probably been in more recently. Trixie's probably in high school, she probably weighs about 93 pounds fully dressed, and she probably definitely wants you to look at her, but I sense a lack of conviction here.  Also, her name's probably not Trixie, but I call her that in my head because she reminds me of 2 different girlfriends my roommate Jason had in college, and his pet name for both of them was Trixie.  Jason, for his part, was kind of a juice box.  

Anyway, Trixie's always wearing a baggy sweater, some thigh-high tights that show off some sort of thigh tattoo and some shoes she definitely had to buy with her own money.  Oh, and tiny shorts--she probably needs the tiny shorts in order to be allowed out of the house in the morning.  

Oh wow--and here she is!  Today she's also wearing a fedora and a monolithic book bag that weighs as much as she does.

Anyway, I'm pulling for Trixie.  She looks like a tiny bunny wearing too much eyeliner and I worry about her.  Plus, Odessa is totally going to go Trixie on me as soon as she turns 15.  She'll probably start pre-Trixie-ing around 11 or 12 before she gets her technique down her sophomore year.  

So, let's get it together, Trix.  I want you to make me proud.

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