The 100 Girls, 100 Days Project

I left out one very important detail about the sixth. In that hour Christine was late, I met somebody else. You figure with all the people shuffling in, out, and around Grand Central, this isn’t much of an accomplishment. But, I managed to meet a stranger in the form of somebody who spends a third of their day in this building. No I didn’t pick up a middle-aged train conductor, or a lovely janitor. I met a bookshop girl while perusing the fictions. I learned on a wall reading through Juliet Naked.

This is a bookstore, not a library.

Barnes & Noble at least has comfortable chairs, much more accommodating than the wall.

She just smiled at me with her horn-rimmed glasses and messy ponytail. I told her I’d give in and buy the book, if she’d go out with me. She just shook her head at me, grabbed the book and walked it to the register ringing it up. I was overjoyed that that dubious method actually worked, but when she was done taking my credit card, and having me sign it, I was still 7 digits away from my goal. As I was about to ask her what about the date, she interrupted me.

Have a good day Mr. Dillinger. Hope you enjoy the book.

Dejected, I walked around to wait for Christine. When I got home I  and opened up the book, I saw the complimentary bookmark. I then noticed the phone number on it. In an age of texting and number exchanges there was something refreshingly charming about a girl who took the effort to write her number down. I think the little scraps of paper with numbers on them, while easy to lose, are a touch that is long since vanished in this world. And I don’t think this is for the better. There’s something to be said for physical proof of an accomplishment. You can have that number as a keepsake, and a trophy. It isn’t just another in a long list of phone contacts that you play Russian roulette with while drunk dialing.

So I called Mia and we set up plans for the next evening. I scanned Time Out and was lucky enough to find a poetry reading going on that night. We arrived early, searched the place for a table and ordered a bottle of wine.  Taking off her jacket she revealed a short sleeved light top and I could plainly see bits of black despite my best gentlemanly attempts to look into the eyes, and not the chest. Off the bat, she asked me one of the strangest/best first date questions I’d ever been subjected to.

Name your top three cereals

In the following order I listed them. Cocoa Puffs, Corn Flakes, Fruit Loops.

She told me I must have a thing for birds. I immediately corrected her that I actually hated/feared them.

Why?

Hitchcock.

Oh come on you can’t be afraid of something from a Hitchcock movie.

Birds, spies, guys named Norman, parties where the host is dead in the center of the room, showering alone, seaside towns, strangers on a train, beds & breakfasts.

B&bs?

I’m pretty sure I’m going to brutally murdered in a quaint little bed and breakfast at some point in my life. But the birds I’m most petrified of. To this day I still won’t go into the Enchanted Tiki Room.

Even though they have great taste in cereal?

Even so, that bird is literally crazy over that cereal. I figure we can share a common interest if they get intelligent enough to start offing mankind. I eat the cereal with him, we bond. And then I find a toucan and we share a Guinness.

What about women?

Those kinds of birds are the most likely to peck me to death.

She couldn’t help but laugh at my neurosis. The wine helped I’m sure.  And then I got her answer, which was abysmally average. She hit me with Apple Jacks. Apple Jacks and me don’t get along, but me and Mia certain did.  We had some wine, listened to semi-okay poetry. I may be well read, but I’ve never been one to get remotely into poetry. She seemed to enjoy it though. We shared glances over Merlot and poetry, while I was off in my head thinking about cereal, stouts, and other birds.