Lines

I went to Subway for lunch today and took my place at the end of the line behind a late-30-something guy in jeans, a white t-shirt, and dirty sneakers. He was unshaven, boyishly rugged, reminded me a little of a guy I’d had a crush on during college. He’d watched me as I walked toward him and the back of the line, and after a few moments of enjoyable silence in which the occupants of the line didn’t indulge in awkward small talk, he turned to me.

“Hot out today, huh?” he said, fidgeting with his credit card.

“Yes,” I agreed, arms crossed in my best anti-social stance.

He nodded and focused on the counter in front of us. I gazed around me, hoping to appear riveted by the monochromatic décor. In my peripheral vision, I noticed Unshaven turn toward me again.

“Think it’ll ever stop?” he asked.

Okay. That’s the best he can come up with? Do I think the heat will stop? I gave the stunning conversationalist a half-smile and said, “I suspect it will.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. When autumn comes. Changing of the seasons and all that.”

That seemed to either stump or satisfy him, because he turned his attention to the teenage girl behind the counter, who had thankfully finished with her last customer and could relieve me of the World’s Most Painful Small Talk.

Sometimes I try not to be so anti-social, but it depends on my mood, and today I just wanted to get my sandwich and get out of there. And I’d imagine that when I’m standing with my arms crossed and avoiding eye contact with anyone, I’m not emitting an “Ask me about the weather!” vibe.

And when someone mentions that it’s hot, what do you say to that? Perhaps “Is it? I hadn’t noticed. I have this neurological condition where I can’t recognize heat.” Or, “It sure is. I’ve sweat through three good shirts today, and it’s only 1:30!”

Yes, I think that’s what I’ll say next time – one or the other. Then we’ll see how quickly I drive the next Unshaven to the next unsuspecting teenager.