I accept that already through the title of this that I might have lost a few of you. Don't fret yourselves, I won't be writing exclusively about the different forms of transmission found in our four wheeled companions.
I meant to write this last week but between work, criminal justice research (because it sounds more intellectual then homework), and finding myself on my death bed for BOTH of my days off... I slacked off. Needless to say that it has happened before... and it shall happen again.
Moving on...
At some random meaningless point of last week, on a particularly warm day I went to work. Like normal. I sat in my little isolation of a golf shop, drank coffee, watched part of Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and dazed off. It was probably around cigarette break number three when a bunch of the maintenance guys came out to join me.
As we conversed about meaningless topics that help the story in no way, I leaned against the front of one of the golf carts. At this moment an older man (roughly 45+) comes down the walkway and walks right up to me. His eyes fixed on my breast that (might I add) were completely covered by a t-shirt that said 'San Francisco' across the upper portion.
Now this man stands like this for several long seconds, bridging me in between him and the golf cart. The maintenance guys are covering their mouths as my face gets less and less enthusiastic to their presence.
I cleared my throat and he stepped back quick, rubbing one of his hands across his mouth before shaking his head.
"I love San Francisco. Went there a lot as a kid..."
His story ends there as I gave him a golf cart key and he road out of my life, but that in no way makes this the end. I walked back outside, picked up my cigarette and grumbled - "And THAT is why I'm glad I'm a lesbian."
Silence. It would only be slightly conceded of me to actually believe that the birds quit singing and the earth stopped turning, if only for a matter of moments. Both of the guys I had been previously talking too were awe struck - yet another quality of men I can't tolerate. These conversations usually end with "Yes I'm a lesbian, no you can't watch."
The remainder of my afternoon was spent with one of the guys constantly walking into the shop, shaking his head and muttering "what a waste". That got me thinking.
What a waste? For who? Men? He wouldn't give me an answer when I asked him what the hell he was talking about. Is it suppose to be a waste for me? It certainly isn't a waste for the girls I sleep with... ... i digress.
Finally he got even more enthralled, like I was the first of my kind he had ever actually witness and I was to be subjected to interviews, photographs, and some oddly unpleasant probing. (not literally.)
"You can't do everything that I can do." He commented with a great deal of confidence. "Um... yeah I can." I replied with hesitation to the conversation to come.
The Nuh uh's and the Yeah-huh's continued on for a while before he relented in confusion. "Explain it to me then."
Since he was a guy who worked with machinery I came up with this analogy.
"Men are like automatics and women are like standards. Women known how to drive standards, men known how to drive automatics... No matter how often a man drives a standard, he'll always hit the clutch thinking it was the brake."
