June 18, 2004
Mistress of the Oblivious
A courier came by to pick up a book we were lending to another firm, but no book had been set out on the counter. Total aging bike messenger/skate punk vibe, ruggedly cute and scruffy. He reminds me of someone...wait, he looks just like the guy I saw on Sex & the City last night, the guy Carrie went out with who owns a comic book shop on St. Mark's Place but lives with his parents on the Upper West Side. He waited while I made phone calls to the other firm and we checked our shelves for the title.
I was so focused on sorting out the problem that I didn't notice the finer details of his person. We made eye contact while he observed that for being so high up his Nextel wasn't working, and I mentioned that I never got good cell signal up here either.
Turns out we didn't have the book, so he left. Afterwards, my boss came up to me and said she couldn't look at him in the eye because she kept staring at his ears. The blank look on my face astonished her.
"You mean you didn't see the holes the size of dimes in his ears?"
So naturally I had to tell her the story of how I'd passed a dead body on Canal St. and didn't know it until my sisters told me.
I really should try not to have such tunnel vision. But then again, at least I was able to talk to the guy and see him as a person. Even if I did miss the giant gaping holes in his ears.