No, Dave. You Can't Do That by Outlander

I don't really travel much. Not in the past five years or so anyway. Maybe once or twice a year to see family in the neighboring city or on one of my infamous and spontaneous fast food runs turned nightlong escapades. This time I had to, or so this legal summons said. It read "Jury Duty" in large bold lettering. "I don't even live in Tucker County", I thought. It wasn't very far, about an hour, maybe 75 minutes. Must have been due to the mailing address and residing so close to the county line. I would have to report to the courthouse possibly every day for a week at 8:30AM. Which means I would have to clear up a week to depart the house no later than 7 o'clock, drive for over an hour, sit around for God knows how long, then drive back. I still needed to take my truck into shop for a few months now but seeing as I normally don't drive often or far figured I had a reasonable amount of time before anything major occurred. I actually had the money to do it, just like all things about my life at present, "meh".

I figured I should probably at least try to get lodging close by, seeing as I am notoriously bad at maintaining a proper sleep schedule. "The Spud Inn" caught my eye, being more or less right across the street from the courthouse ensuring I could even walk there in the event something even more annoying and unexpected decided to grace my fate. I corresponded with the owner about the weekly rental mentioned on their website. He seemed nice enough. 950 bones. "What the hell", I thought, and agreed.

After dusting off my old suitcase from the closet to ensure I still had it, and placing a 2-day shipping order for various apparel and accessories online I felt things beginning to come together. "Shoot, this might actually be fun. Maybe I'll meet someone", I thought. The day of my check-in before I departed was frantic. For the first time in years and what had to have been tens of thousands of dollars of online delivery orders across said years, my package was delayed. I wondered if this was some sort of bad omen, not that it really mattered this late in the proverbial hour. In an act of feigned yet socially-expected small talk I did mention to the regular delivery guy who delivers this route I had jury duty a few days prior, asking if he lived in Tucker County, to which he replied 'Yes' in a friendly enough albeit direct manner. I couldn't help but wonder if he had something to do with the ill fortune that seemingly befell me without reason. Nothing in particular hinted at such, other than he was old enough to be my father and knows I as a young bachelor with my youth and fairly large and impressive home is likely the closest he's ever been to the televised notions of life success. I also do kind of order alot. No matter. "I'll just pick up what I need in town", I thought.

After briefly becoming entranced into the curious if not mildly depressive philosophical line of questioning of "how did I fit my entire life into two mere suitcases?", I was off. It took longer than I thought but eventually I arrived at "The Spud Inn". Potatoes are real big here, it's a "potato town" after all, whatever that meant. The streets looked a bit questionable, the room seemed rather small compared to my prior dwelling, and the cable TV was out. Nevertheless, I unpacked, powered on my laptop, had a few beers, and prepared myself for the impending judicial duty at hand.

The morning of my service I reported as promptly as possible wearing my best shirt. Gray. The color of impartiality. The metal detector line was long and frantic. I made eyes with the guard once to signify I was aware of him being aware of me, then blended in with my fellow people in line. After simultaneously explaining to and asking the lady handling the item trays about the presence of my lighter to smoke during lunch break I was up the elevator to a small lobby in front of a large room. Apparently I had to take an online questionnaire and followed her to a series of computers in the larger room. About 50 or more people sat in chairs all facing the front of the room which held a television. Apparently it was a waiting room. As I did an awkward running jog with my head bent as I exhibitiously traversed the front of the room back to the attendant she informed me due to the fact I technically do not live in Tucker County I was, in her words, "free to go". Huh. A strange combination of feelings including feeling ripped off and oddly disappointed began to fill my mind. I prepared for this. For hours. Days even. And in an instant, it was all for nothing. I thanked her out of obligation and procedure then left the building, returning back to my rented safehouse.

"That was anti-climactic" I thought. So there I was in a strange city with about a week left on my rental and not a soul who I knew or could call even an acquaintance. I could invite some friends, I thought. Home was little more than an hour away. Nah. Most all either have in-person work, kids, a dog, something that tethers them to the area. I could meet people here, despite it being more or less a retirement town. Now 30 and in my prime, after spending what was arguably the best years of it working and building in a seemingly endless cycle of where purpose and pointlessness seemed to blend together, I realize I've become a bit distant from the everyday goings ons of those my age. No matter, I thought. Most those my age are the same place they started. The service industry. So, tucking any sense of dignity and self worth I had between my legs like a tail of lost regret, I went to a few local places, national chains rather, that had your various sandwich artists, baristas, waitresses, miscellaneous servers and what have you. None were really my type. In between stopping back to my rented fort for beer and various gas stations to indulge in the mindless yet seldom mastered art of scratch off lottery, I ended up at the closest Starbucks shortly after noon.

As a professional I am basically never "clearly intoxicated" short of the point of imminent medical danger. It's one of my few talents. Nevertheless I decided to chum it with the male barista working, asking about his life, what the job was like, and occasionally giving him a few tips in his hand outside of the tip jar, which if you know your Starbucks would otherwise be mandatorily shared. He was cool. In his late 20s, a few years my junior, married or at least in some sort of relationship, makes music apparently. Though not with any degree or at least fame to avoid handing me lukewarm bottles of water at my request. I was seated at what would be the "bar" if it were a bar, the table wrapping around the work and cashier area. Back to the corner, sipping on my water and illicit alcoholic canned beverage I brought in, removing it only from the local gas station bag to indulge every so often. He seemed to like me, perhaps it was the pleasant disruption from the elderly crowd on various laptops ever so often gazing at me as if I was some sort of potential danger only to be greeted by a casual nod and occasional half-wave. Perhaps it was just the $5 I gave him. No matter. In between my scratch offs and our lengthy if not blase discussions about games of chance and the economy, I grew weary. I needed company. So I just asked him. "Hey man, any of your co-workers single?" "Maybe the one working the drive-thru" he said.

She seemed nice. Around my age, about 5'7 with blatantly unnatural red hair. I don't judge people. After all, going from place to place surrounded by elderly people, drinking beer and playing scratch offs barely after noon isn't quite the most modest way to spend one's life either I suppose. Even if due to the circumstances surrounding my presence were not of my own doing or control. I wasn't there to promise anything. Other than an interesting time. And who knows? Naturally I didn't try to "signal" or otherwise broadcast emotional or other non-platonic interest. Just to observe. And of course pounce if the opportunity did arise. Then the shift change came in. I casually looked over as if to see what the commotion was about before returning to my beverage(s) and scratch offs.

I didn't pay her much attention at first. She came in behind the counter without her apron wearing all black per uniform standards. Lovely figure. I always did like them on the larger side. "Ooh, wow. What am I freaking 12?", I thought to myself as I went back to my scratch off tickets and isolated small talk with the male barista whom I or at least my $5 befriended. Also the one redheaded barista who I was informed "might be single" was still around and I may have unintentionally broadcasted the desire to hang out or otherwise socialize as I noticed she seemed to look at me as I looked more and more at the new shift as if she desired to be my wife and was scolding me under some faux notion of cheating. Perhaps that was just my own wishful thinking on my part. Nevertheless, as she put her apron on and began to perform the various motions of barista life, I couldn't focus my gaze on any other but her. In her near silence performing the tasks, monotony became close to divinity. It wasn't her, not really. At least, I don't think so. She simply reminded me of some sort of near ethereal compilation of all the past women specifically the states of mind that rescued me from various episodes of despair and longing in early life. Whether it was the infatuation or mere alcohol I, even as writing this, seemed to have lost track of events.

When she got close to area I was seated I did my best to give little more than a casual half-smile, nothing more than you'd to give to any server who passes in your proximity. I could tell, if not out of concern or otherwise odd behavior, she took notice of me. Mind you, I more than likely could, with maximum effort, pull in more in a few weeks than she would in a year, before or after taxes, but in my eldership of turning 30, all that amounted to very little in terms of importance and success in my eyes. But I wasn't there to be "that guy". In fact, I was there to be the opposite. The casual guy on business/vacation, just like anyone else, but in an opportunity to perhaps splurge, just a little. So there I was, this odd if not out of place character in a simple, now-wrinkled gray dress shirt one size too large, scratching off lottery tickets, all whilst ordering the cheapest items (water) on the menu. What a sight I must've been. I couldn't help but focus a gaze on her as she walked away from me, thus preventing any notion of focused intent or staring. She caught me. I think. She spun her head around quickly as almost to do so. We made eye contact briefly before I immediately lowered my eyes to the lower right as if that was where I was looking. After all, I was facing forward and the work area was fairly narrow. Not at all in a "I'm watching you and want you" sort of way more of a "this is a public area and I'm facing it, get over yourself, lady" sort of way.

Meanwhile, my new - if not paid for - male barista friend was kind enough to refill my expresso shots fairly regularly. I really don't care much for coffee so asked for the least beverage with the most caffeine. She seemed to notice this and chimed in "that's the last free refill for you today". As if I were some vagrant bum. Or would willingly hang out or otherwise associate with any male member of her family by choice were it not for her. But after all, that was exactly who I wanted to be. "It's ok.. I have a few dollars." I said whilst giving the slightest polite grin. I did my best to observe all the workers in my view equally so as not to give the impression I was interested in any one specifically. I couldn't help but notice her washing or cleaning something where, perhaps again more wishful thinking, she displayed her left hand adorned with a gold ring on the ring finger along with an ornate butterfly ring on her middle. I knew what this likely meant. But chose to ignore it. After all, meaning is subjective. Right? Again, I was just there to meet people. The fact this person seemed to resonate with me was mere unfortunate circumstance. Right?

I went back to my scratch offs, reporting my rare winnings to the male barista guy whenever he was around. She however seemed to hover on more than one occasion when I was busy a-scratching. I did my best to ignore her. She seemed to return the favor when after a few minutes I asked casually, as I would to any barista, "so what's it like working here?". To which she walked away before I was even finished speaking. "Alright then." I concluded flatly. She knew I was admiring her figure whenever she would turn away, I just didn't want to come off as rude or anything. Probably more wishful thinking on my part but she decided to indulge me by standing about 10 feet in front of me facing the opposite direction. Not quite doing anything else other than standing there. It would have almost been awkward were she not so lovely. It both encouraged and dismayed me. Encouraging because OK is she flirting or exhibiting herself out of interest or perhaps just throwing me a bone to be a nice person. I was a friendly paying customer after all. I was there by choice, she was not. I noticed a few of her co-workers glancing over at me glancing over at her so decided in the interest of not coming off as a creep (too late perhaps) I would mosey on out of there. Besides, I had just finished my last illicitly smuggled beer. Gave a still wave to the guy, confirmed I had paid, and told him to take it easy.

I had actually been up all night that day so ended up passing out shortly after 1 in the afternoon, waking up sometime around 6 or so. I couldn't stop thinking about my life choices. It wasn't the woman or how perfect she was to me, despite knowing next to nothing about her, not even her name. In this family we have a reputation to uphold, at the very least an expectation to meet. We don't just marry any person we like nor do we create life all willy nilly on a whim. It's just as financially precarious as it is physically. One mistake could ruin everything I was always told, and have seen it happen plenty a time. It's not quite a caste system per se, as in unchangeable or bloodline politics or anything like that. More of a family crest system of accomplishments, of which mine in particular is less than the talk of the town, we'll say. But here none of that mattered. I was the interesting if not oddball stranger with no reputation, nothing to uphold, nothing to yoke my every action and desire. I was just me.

I decided to go back to the coffee shop that same day before closing. Maybe I'd meet someone else I'd find even more delightful. Maybe her relationship was on the rocks and wasn't going to last. Maybe the dude was an abusive loser and I was doing the moral thing by rescuing her from a life of horrid and monotonous agony. Maybe she just liked wearing rings. I didn't know anything. But of course, with a moderate buzz, casually walked in said hey to the clerk and asked for a water and a sandwich. It was my buddy. He even remembered the fake name I gave him. Dave. Heheh. It was something normal at least. After using the restroom the manager/supervisor in me noticed there was no soap. Gross, right? My buddy barista was at the register, flanked by his co-workers so not wanting to make a scene in any way I walked up close to the counter, quickly looked slightly to the left and right, leaned in some and beckoned him to come closer with my right hand. Quietly I said "There's no soap in the bathroom". To which perhaps in some unintentional comedic anti-climacteric sense seemed to be funny as the ladies around him chuckled. They clearly were not up to the level of customer care and resulting seriousness as I have acclimated myself toward. He said he'd do something about it, or something. Whatever. It was just my obligation.

I sat around for a good half hour or so with my new scratch off tickets and freshly smuggled beers. Bear in mind I knew not a soul in this city so resorted to my go-to new barista buddy for small talk and to otherwise exert my charm and charisma into the atmosphere without seeming disturbed and talking to myself and varying scratch off results. She would pass by every now and then (mind you the area is painfully small) along with her various night shift co-workers. I kept conversation with the one male barista so as to avoid "signaling" per se. What's there to do in town, how's life, all the cliche yet discussable topics. The searing image of her rings on her finger signaling our future would be little more than shortlived, overpriced transactions and polite if not forced small talk burning in my mind. Tick tock. It was 9 o'clock. Closing time. My buddy announced to us me and the one other patron on a laptop on the corner "Closing time, gotta go". "Be out of here in 90 seconds, just a sec" I spoke loudly. I felt a hot rush in my face. Now or never time. I grew cold. So again beckoned the guy as he was close. "Hey man, what's the deal with what's her name over there" I spoke in a low volume and gave a nod toward my admiree. He laughed a bit then said "Oh they're in all relationships." I was decimated. Hiding my despair and clearly unwarranted rage at myself and no other I replied "Oh man. Alright then, take it easy." and quickly departed.

Back at my rented fort all I could do was wonder. Surely such a nice gentleman told me the truth and nothing but. It all added up, his statement, the rings, basic logic, even. Of course. I psyched myself out into subtly thinking about her by superimposing the generic concept of "Ok, what if this did happen (with anyone). Then what?". I have resources available for myself, and those who are approved by my family. And so what? I'm beyond the average 30 year old male even without all otherwise available to me. I could do this. And then some. But would it be right? I revisited my state of mind a few years prior where I was willing, able, and frankly expecting to be a father. A child. Imagine that. Simple enough yet so complicated. Even if not under the circumstances I bore. Shopping for household items, cribs, barbecues, graduations, finding not just a person but my person, the point of life itself, it all raced through my mind. Perhaps this still technically hypothetical person thought the same of her. Who am I to rob a man of such purpose? After all, the whole point of our lineage was to end that which plagued mankind not contribute to it. But of course, what if he was just like so many "men" who are little more than children, neigh, little more than animals who live and breathe little more than impulse and confusion? Surely I was the better option. I would help two people, society, no, civilization itself by simply perusing that which I was disinclined to.

I never went back, at least at the time of writing this. I sat in my rented fort, knowing I could have just about half the town as company if I wanted. But, seeing what I always thought of as perfection, yet being bound to live without it, not only humbled me. But brought me a type of obscure peace that always eluded me back home. Perhaps this is just the intellectual mind and hedonic treadmill fallacy where one becomes comforted regardless. I sat at my desk in the hotel room looking at my various scratch off ticket dustings I collected into a pile, out of courtesy, that seemed to have formed into a heart-shaped black pile of dust. As I looked into it, it was not only a mirror of my state of mind and emotion, but perhaps even, a warning? Is that would I would potentially do or reduce another, possibly innocent man into? His entire hopes, dreams, efforts? What right would I have to do so. But perhaps he was a little more than animal and did this to her long ago. Who could know.

I went to a new coffee place the following day. Interestingly enough there was another male barista I was able to chum it up with. So, there I sat with a bag of scratch off tickets and a few cans of smuggled beverage, alongside an all too familiar pile of scratch off lottery dust, waiting to see just who would come in through that coffee shop door next.