My inability to understand the motivations behind typical human actions often worries me.
Take conversating (not conversing) with strangers for instance. I have never understood what on God’s green fuck motivates a person to entertain a conversation with a total stranger.
Arnold Lakhovsky, The Conversation
I’m not talking about the online world either. I’m talking about just running into some schmo out in public and talking with them.
I saw this young lady outside of 7-Eleven the other day. When we pulled up, she was engaged in some form of discourse with a rather obese man.
It’s not just that he was obese, though; that’s not special. He was obese and carried with him the unmistakable “I gave up on life twelve years ago” swagger.
He had a belly that could easily double as a wildlife habitat.
His shirt bore the stains of this day’s serving of sweat and body grease, on top of the previous day’s layer of sweat and body grease, on top of the previous day’s layer of anguish and scorn.
His smirkish grin juxtaposed with his miserable appearance such that it loudly and proudly proclaimed, “I ONCE GOT AWAY WITH CHILD MOLESTATION!” He had a stare that might as well have come with the words ”I would totally rape the shit out of you and your 2nd grader if I was strong enough” on his forehead.
Okay, that’s enough on him.
The young lady with whom he was conversating wasn’t exactly Kate Middleton, but she was certainly in a totally different realm of superficial outward physical aesthetic attractiveness.
But then again, she was hanging out in front of a 7-Eleven, so that’s probably an indication of something too.
Her wardrobe was rather ironic; a “Michigan State” hoodie over what could only have been an IHOP waitress uniform (or so I deduced from the presence of the IHOP across the street).
She carried with her more of a “I gave up on life three months ago” swagger; not totally hopeless.
The weirdest thing about her, though, was how genuinely engaged in conversation she was with Mr. Fatty Fat-Fat Face.
As my friend, who was driving, entered 7-Eleven, their discussion continued and I was able to make out what it was they were talking about.
Now, I didn’t think this was possible, but even upon hearing them discuss lottery tickets, I still don’t know what the fuck about lottery tickets there is to discuss. I just don’t understand what a conversation about lottery tickets would consist of, even having heard one. I don’t even think I can say 10 things about lottery tickets;
- You purchase them with currency.
- The product is the chance to win lots of money.
- Often they include material which can be scratched away to reveal that you didn’t win anything.
- They generate revenue for the State.
That’s it. I would have to consult Wikipedia for further info.
But that’s not even the part I’m having trouble processing. I don’t buy lottery tickets, maybe they’re a lot more interesting than I thought. My problem is that I just have no way of understanding what people hope to accomplish when engaging in social encounters such as these.
I mean, I talk to people I don’t know all the time in certain situations, like on my campus, on other college campuses, parties, bars and teh internets. But that’s more or less what all of those things are for; it’s more of the location that strikes me than anything.
This particular 7-Eleven sits off a very heavily trafficked 45mph highway near a bunch of restaurants and grocery, hardware, fast-food, and convenience stores. Their conversation literally took place in front of a “No Loitering” sign, not that I’m for listening to what signs say.
7-Eleven is an American establishment that has been enabling my addictions for as long as I can remember – starting with delicious Slurpees, through extreme Amp and Monster energy drinks, to delectably addicting Marlboro Lights, and of course, only the freshest Grape Dutchies to roll super-fat blunts with the weed I can almost always get from the [black and Latino] cashiers – so they will always occupy a very special place in my arrhythmic heart. However, when I go to 7-Eleven, I’m generally in and out. No one tries to talk to me, and I try to talk to no one. It’s pretty simple really.
I explained this whole little anomaly by just assuming she’s one of those really weird girls who’s just attracted to outwardly repulsively disgusting men.
The weirdness of our species ensures that there will always be someone for everyone.