Context is everything.
Squirrel Hill Cafe is the legal name for the Cage, or at least the name plastered on the facade. For those on a lower frequency of the hipster spectrum, the Cage is a dive bar that seems to attract clientele that like their beer cheap and their lungs filled with smoke. It's as if all of the cliques from my high school hold a weekly reunion there.
We talked for a while (this woman and I, not the high school cliques...focus, seriously), mostly leaning towards the job-interview-esque questions like "what do you do?" and "what's your biggest fear?" or "when can you start?" I'm mostly kidding. But eventually (by which I mean "after enough alcohol") the conversation degraded into my wheelhouse of half-assed one-liners and non-sequiturs. I think this happens because 75% of the conversation I'm actually having is going on inside of my head, and what the general public hears is the illogical conclusion. As a result I'm prone to blurting out things like "shouldn't ALL animals have been named after the sound they make?" or "I think you and I have very different interpretations of the color green."
Later in the evening she bet that she could guess my middle name. And I think I replied with "ummmmmmmmmmmmmmm......okay?"
"Okay, so what's your first name, again?" (I realize that this does not imply a successful encounter, but I don't think my name is particularly irrelevant compared to other specifications, like my favorite smells, or if I like my dressing mixed into my salad or on the side)
"Timothy."
"Oh, Edward."
She said it just like that, like my middle name was the lamest discovery in the history of time...as if it was tattooed on my forehead and I just wasn't aware.
I mean, that's cool shit, isn't it? Not helpful in any way, but still cool. I don't think she possessed any sort of extra-sensory perception or supernatural affinities, but I'd imagine some heightened sense of social redundancy gave her the ability to determine the most reasonable middle name to go with a first name.
Not that I said any of that to her. I think I stopped after "that's cool shit."
She asked me if I had any unique skills that paralleled hers and my first instinct was to say "no...I mean...who does?" So what I said was "no...I mean...who does?"
Yesterday I was typing up revised guidelines for some changes to a database I made at work (in case you were concerned that my home databases are undergoing significant changes). Being hyperfocused on the task at hand and donning headphones means my coworkers have to try unique ways to get my attention, often involving projectiles. But, this particular employee was not aware of this caveat and instead stood in front of my desk for a good five minutes before I had looked up.
"Were you working?"
"Yup...just typing up some steps."
"Wait, so you were working?"
"Yeah...why?"
"You weren't just mashing your keyboard and pretending to ignore me?"
"Ha, um, nope. Why would I ignore you?"
"I just...nobody types like that."
"Like what?"
"Like...all crazy like."
"Oooookay....well, I guess I type all crazy like, then."
I didn't think much of it until a few hours ago, when I was writing an e-mail and my daughter asked me if I was actually writing words or just typing gibberish. So, before I took her home I tested my ability to type, since it appears to be so unnerving to people:
I don't know if there's any significant benefit to typing 105 WPM except that it's going to take me 1/3 of the time to write this blog when compared to an "average typist".
But, on the plus side I know what I can tell the next stranger at the next bar! And then I can be all "oh so you don't believe me? Someone pass me a laptop, I'm about to throw down, mofo!"
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