A TELEPHONE CHARGER AND FREE BEER

To my very great surprise I might be considered as having considerable charm, in addition to my commanding (domineering) character. The young fellow who had just done several hours of overtime (first job out of college) listened with rapt attention while I disquisitioned on the Malayo Polynesian languages after first discussing Punjabi Gujarati Marathi and Nepali. This happened primarily because I had no interest in an involved discussiong with a random stranger while finishing my pipe. He had started it by asking me about my sweatshirt (Medrash Govoha), a handsome black number with a football theme.

Medrash Govoha is a Litvish yeshiva which has no sports programme.
To the best of my knowledge. My kind of school.

With my pipe, I looked very collegiate.

He may have had no clue what I was on about, which was fine, because I didn't want him to himself have any chance to go on about anything. Far too often I have been a chance-met father confessor slash therapist sympathetic ear to young men who seek guidance and an avuncular victim. Sometimes it's hippie ladies who are studying to become Karen. So no. Dominate the conversation while clarifying for myself my own conceptualizations about whatever subject strikes my lips. And I happen to know far too much about the Malayo Polynesian tongues and cultures. I'll talk, and eventually they'll leave.


Because the burger joint, beer hall, and karaoke place were packed, my friend the bookseller grabbed a buritto and we headed directly to Miss Vivien's, where we were warned that there was a unique individual on the loose. Who needed phone-recharging.
And, we found out later, beer.

When people dress flamboyantly in a way that reflects their unique and creative personality, especially in this city, it is wise to avoid conversing with them. And I was afraid that she would sit in the vacant chair next to the bookseller, whereupon my skill at driving people away by being even more artistic, philosophical, and faux-intellectual than them would be called for.
It's something I do well. A defensive offense.

The problem was that I was a bit exhausted and feverish. I had been jabbed in the biceps with another vaccine earlier in the day, my arm felt sore, and I was off my game.
So I did not look forward to the fray.

The bookseller is capable of discouraging the nuts himself. But I'm normally better at it, and enjoy being more than they could ever deal with. Plus I have rabies.


Why is it never nice intelligent people who glom on to one, just to enjoy long quiet periods in a safe radius that smells of pipe tobacco? Not talking, just, perhaps, reading a book or a recent copy of The Lancet. Someone to whom one could suggest a cup of tea.

[In the past I would have mentioned Scientific American, Horizon, or even National Geographic. But I feel that those aren't as interesting as they used to be. Geological Magazine and Chemistry Journal are definite candidates.]




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================