captainsblog | Unspoken Conversations

Late morning. A suburban bank branch drive-up.

There are several lines of cars, and one fairly big rig (van hauling a trailer), jockeying for the two open teller lines, but I'm heading for the ATM flush against the building, so I dart around the confusion and pull in behind the one car at the machine. Then I see the problem: van dude's trailer is too tall for the covered lane his van has already pulled into, and he's trying to navigate it back without hitting cars behind him, or to either side. Including, suddenly, mine.

I process a few unkind thoughts about the intelligence required to pull such a rig into a drive-up in the first place, but somewhere between him moving back and the car ahead finishing and letting me move forward, I realize: I know the guy. He runs a home-based custodial business, not ten houses away from here, and I often see that van (although not usually with attached trailer) sitting in some pretty muddy states in his driveway, so he must get into and out of even messier spots than this. I also know him, and his house, for the gorgeous Siberian husky that courses their corner, who I see sitting in the passenger seat of the van, quietly and calmly, the whole time Daddy is trying to back out his rig.

Unspoken: Sorry, man. Shouldn't have judged. Hope I didn't cut you off while you were trying to navigate. Next time I drive by that corner, I may vocalize those thoughts to him, especially if I see Nikki the Dog hanging out on the premises.

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Late afternoon. A gym- cardio section.

Arriving later than I wanted, with my usual combination of book and (today) Bareilles, I witness a hormonic convergence of epic proportions.

I'm on the third tier up of the cardio machines, giving me a lofty view of the action below. To my left, where the patrons pass as they enter and exit the facility, I see more loftiness. Way more. Specifically, a departing young lass, wearing a t-shirt cut so far down on her front that it covers, barely, the bottoms of the cloverleafs of Exits 40D and 40DD on her Boobage Expressway. However, I am considerably less distracted by this display than the denizens of the tier one row down.

Immediately in front of me is Elliptical Dude, likely in his mid-20s. I watch him, watching her, as his head jerks to the left, back to center, and left again and again. Only his collarbone, and possibly the invisible presence of a crucifix, kept his head from doing a full 360 Linda Blair on him.

Even funnier, though, is the reaction of the woman two ellipticals to his right- old enough to be his mother, yet almost certainly not. I watch as she turns, almost as many times, pointing eyebound darts of DEATH at the grrl on account of her display. All's I can think in response to her is, you must have a daughter too, huh.

But the best part of all for me is realizing, as Cleavage Chick tarries at the protein shake bar? She's with her boyfriend- or at least SOME guy who got stuck in there. WTF is HE thinking?

As I watch the happy couple(s) depart, it's all I can do not to wish them goodbye with a friendly wave and a Pooh-ish expression of "Ta-ta!"