glance down a street to my left reveals to me, almost hidden behind a car, the diva who drew my attention – a perfect work of art in its own right no doubt, especially when drawn by her – in the interview room, so Joss Stone: a perfect figure, intoxicating personality, cheerful gaze, and fine, flawless skin. So that's settled then, I won't be talking to her, not just yet. I'll see her again someday I'm sure. But now I decide to play the game in just the way John Nash might: there exists a fine girl and two fair, to seek the fine is to invite rejection, but to seek a fair is to play fair, and fairly soon you'll find yourself in a fairly good position.
Somehow I know that a third girl is making her way to the railway station just like me. A quick mental statistical calculation tells me that since the majority of people at the interview were female, since the purpose of the interview is to source people for job positions at a Bunnings in the suburb of Chatswood and not Artarmon where we now dwell, and since there are not too many shops in this suburb, there is every chance that one of the girls who attended the interview will be on her way to Artarmon station right now as I think and walk.
I break into a slow jog which I keep up until I arrive at a crossing: in front of me stretches from left to right one leg of a freeway overpass and across the pass, sure enough she stands, idle like a dandelion, stiff, shy, and still with a real illusory sexy gait. Sure she's plain, but she's the type of girl you can roll a conversation off. You can utter several words, and she'll spill a sentence, utter ten, and she'll spill several. Through years – I mean, hours – of practice I've learnt that some girls are eager to talk to guys, just as many guys are eager to talk to girls. It's easy enough to assume that a chick will tag you as a stalker, pervert, or creep if you walk to close to her and attempt to start a conversation. Many will. But many won't. And believe it or not, if you play your cards right, you can target with your speech just the right type of girl, at just the right time, in just the right suburb, when you have just the right amount of words in your naked, available vocabulary to string together a perfect conversation starter. Just as you memorize notes in preparation for an exam, so too can you memorize pick up lines, but it's best to memorize templates. In this case I decide that I can re-use a template I only just utilized: you were so great in there. You're fishing for a compliment of course. When you say someone was great then they'll tell you that you were too, unless she's a complete bitch, which can be fun, so play that conversation for all it's worth young man. Anyway, I clear the road, and the footpath across a bridge, I arrive at a second pedestrian crossing and she's standing right beside me:
'Excuse me, were you in the interview just then?' - An English accent rings from my tongue: I must be summoning the power of Jude Law or Russell Brand as I speak, speaking syllables as though they are notes played to the backing track of pompous conversations held between English comedians and professional pick-up artists. And sure enough their lines, whatever they might be, are present in my implicit awareness.
'Yeah.'
'You were great. Good job.'
She wasn't too bad. I'm not lying. For one thing she looks like a beautiful princess, shy albeit, and a little withdrawn but beautiful nonetheless: the type of girl you could hold in a kiss for the entire fourth of July – ha ha – or new years, as fireworks fall like rain around you both, twinkling like fireflies, these tiny Tempah crystals licking your lips, illuminating the perfect contours of her red, pink lips, her shiny white teeth, and her loose tongue. And she was well spoken and I truly believe she deserves a part in the soap opera of Bunnings Chatswood 101, starring Jude Law as me, Joss Stone as diva chick, and Jessica Mauboy as chick who I'm currently talking to.
'Oh thanks. Wow. You were real good. They always say you should volunteer first to speak and all. I know I should have. You were so confident.'
'Thanks. You think so?'
So there it was, confirmation that the kiss just yesterday was life changing, confirmation that I was now a new man, confirmation that a relationship with a beautiful female teacher is something every young shy guy needs.
'Yeah. Wish I could have been like that. I'm really not sure about this one. I've applied for so many different positions, K Mart, Coles, Officeworks, I really hope I get one.'
'Have you worked before?'
'Nah. Straight out of school. I'm 18.'
'I'm 14,' I say, shrugging. 'I feel so young now.'
'14! Awww. Wish I applied for a job here when I was that age. It's so much easier to find work when you're young.'
Think treelined streets, think plain smooth footpaths, think a clear crisp voice, skin with a perfect shine, hair that falls like arms limp, a beaut gait, posture, and stroll: she's so fine and I'm thinking I'll surely see her again after today. Each word I throw out is another card and I'm starting to understand the rules of poker.
******
References
1 Poker Face – Lady GaGa
JACKSON CURTIS - 7:03am - November 24 - 2011
'I'm at . . . the suburb where I live!'
'Where?'
'I ain't tellin' you where. Think I just give out my address to anyone? Look, I had a real nice night. It was great, excellent. You're a beautiful girl but . . .'
'When will I see you again?'
'I don't know. Actually, to be honest, probably never. I'm just that traveler who came into your life for a night. Look, could you not call me . . .'
I flip my phone shut: 'Ok. Call block. Never really had to do this before. Ha. Kind of cool, I guess. Um' – I glance at the camera – '. . . that was my . . . uh . . . ex? No. No, what do we say? One night stand girl? That was the girl I fucked last night. Simple. Yeah, she was a babe but she was just a babe, emphasis on the indefinite article, and let's also draw an analogy between the girl and this type of article shall we? Yeah, we shall. And now she's practically stalking me. It's never the ones you'd expect, is it?
'Let me set the scene, I'm at Gosford. This is where I live, nowhere special. It's early morn. And I'm well enough to walk home on my own because I was totally sober last night. I don't have a choice anyway, I'm always alone. In fact, that got to me last night when this chick asks me just who my friends are. I lied of course, told her I've got a whole heap of mates who go to Ourimbah University, and some more who go to some High Schools on the Coast. She left it at that because she don't live on the Coast, she lives in Beecroft – more on that sorry suburb in a minute. Anyway, I'm thinking about this on the train back, I'm thinking: do I want friends? Do I need friends? Like permanent, non-transient friends? BFF's? Friends for life? Probably not, but it would be cool. I'm very hedonistic, I don't deny this. I enjoy the pursuit of pleasure, having a great time, and live by the theme and title of that old N*Sync album: No Strings Attached. Heck, I even walk like JT when I'm high, no kidding. I got the stroll down to an art form, I write cursive on the pavement, thoughts the same pitch as the whiny voice of MJ singing “Can You Feel It?*” And when you have friends then you have commitments and not as much freedom. Maybe you gotta be in Sydney by noon the next day, at a party by dawn, and you gotta buy gifts, of course, every second week. Don't get me wrong, I love it when friends talk to me about their problems, makes me feel like I'm some psychologist or something, like I can make a difference, like I can help. And I love helping, I love empathizing with others, and the feeling you get when you've done something nice for someone, the feeling which I also get after I fuck some poor bitch, especially if I was never actually attracted to her . . . or him. Little off topic here, because the girl I fucked last night was totally fine, but I'll stay on this line of thought for a bit longer, on the train even though I've stepped off the platform and I'm walking across the car park, but bare with me. Ok: so I love it when I get to play doctor, I like the feeling you get when you're with a good friend, and I've had many – past tense. But I also like freedom just as much as GM, and I also happen to think that all you haters are probably just as hedonistic as I am but won't admit it.
'Gluttony – excessive eating or drinking. I'd say that really refers to excessive stimulation of any of your sensory organs. Those who don't fuck, taste, sniff, and watch things,