Strangers In The Night

Melissa looked deep into her glas. All she could see was a vague reflection of her face in the empty bottom.

“Lol!”

She thought she’d just been thinking that, but the letters slipped through her lips.

She glanced briefly left and right, but unsurprisingly no one seemed to have noticed. The bar around her was empty. She waved at the barman.

“Another Old Fashioned, please!”

Her third, and if she was smart enough, last drink for tonight. It’d been a tough few months after her relationship with Brad broke down. You think you know someone, but that’s all just deception.

“Hey, hit me up with one of the same, please.”

Melissa looked up to see a tall guy with lush black hair make for the barstool next to her. Handsome, it struck her. She shook her head lightly. She wasn’t ready to jump back into the game again.

“Can I join you?“, he smiled.

Silence as she played out how this would go. The “what do you do”, “who are you”, nothing-of-substance flirtation.

“I’ll try my best to get you lolling at least as hard as that empty glass did.”

That’s a cheeky grin, but he’s nervous, she thought. He brushed his hand through his hair nervously. She just nodded. Whatever.

“Well, we’re off to a good start. I usually find that a hearty laugh comes right after a barely noticeable nod.”

He was persistent, she had to give him that.

“Uhoh, that looks like the beginning of a smile.”

He reached out his hand to her and started saying: “Hi, how you doing? I’m M...!”

“Let’s not do that, man!“, she interrupted briskly.

They made eye contact for the first time. His eyes were deeper than the ocean. Or was she looking into his soul. Probably, she was looking through the two Old Fashioneds she had downed.

“Here we go, two Old Fashioneds.”

The barman slammed the two glasses in front of them. They broke eye contact, and, with that, the tension.

“Don’t do what? You gotta be more specific… one, let’s not shake hands. Two, let’s not talk. Three, let’s not interact at all. Or four…now this one burns… but it’s still an option: just no, dude, you’ve got to move out of my sight.”

Melissa faked an exaggerated sigh.

“I like the menu of automated rejection responses. Can I hold to speak to a human though? None of these apply.”

He picked up on the cue.

“Beep, beep. We are currently experiencing higher than usual call volumes. We will be with you as soon as we’ve found the last shred of our confidence to face what may come next. Please hold.”

He made a gesture with his thumb and pinky finger pretending to be on the phone. He looked so serious, so dedicated really to doing his bit, that it involuntarily made Melissa smile.

“Okay, I give you that much: whatever improv course you attended paid off.”

He acknowledged her smile with a wink and continued.

“Good evening. How can I help?”

She gave in and played along.

“Yeah, so I didn’t like options one to four.”

“Mmmhhh. I see. We really value our callers. Your feedback is duly noted. Anything else we can help you with today?”

Melissa took a deep breath and jumped in.

“We can shake hands, we can talk - correction, we are already talking - we can interact, though I’m a good girl so let’s respect some boundaries. What I meant is, let’s not do those boring introductions. My name is, I work at, yadiyadiyahhh.” Melissa rolled her eyes.

“M’am, so you don’t have a complaint so far, is that correct?“, he asked matter of factly.

She hesitated for a moment.

“So far? No, I don’t.”

His face clouded over with exaggerated disapproval: “So why the hell are you clogging up this complaint line?!”

“Ah, come on, man!”

They both hung up their ‘hand-phones’.

Melissa put out her hand and said: “Here. Have your handshake.”

He grabbed her hand and gave it a firm handshake. With eye contact. He was making quite the first impression on her.

“How kind of you, Milady. So what is it with you and introductions? A long-standing hatred? A quarter-life crisis? A recent bad experience? A one-off whimsy?“. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“You are just full of options, aren’t you? This feels like I got unlucky with the strangest questions on ‘Who wants to be a millionaire’.”

“Well, you may have realised by now, I mask my nervousness with an array of ill-fitting jokes,... and lists, loads of lists. And a few glasses of sex on the beach usually. Not this nasty liquid.” He pointed at the still full glass of Old Fashioned in his hand. “Don’t give me those eyes! It’s just delicious and fun to order.”

“I know you snuck some of your humour in there for distraction, but I really appreciate your honesty and vulnerability. That’s refreshing a few minutes into a conversation with a stranger.”

“Great, now your turn. Introductions and why we aren’t going to do them. Go!” He made a gesture that resembled a frustrated parent pushing their child to run faster in a summer camp competition.

“It’s just such a shame how quickly we define people by what they do for work, or what they are called. Oh, they’re in finance - money-minded, hotshot assholes. Ah, they’re in the creative industry - underemployed, messy, great lovers. Honestly, it’s just ridiculous! People are so much more than their job, their name, their postcode. You, me, multifaceted human beings.” She wildly pointed at herself, then him, then her again.

“Very passionately said. And just to be clear, for tonight, I am a painter!“, her companion jumped in and winked at her. “Is this doing anything for you, Milady?”

His over the top facial expressions made her break and chuckle lightly.

“Hell, no! You should have stuck with imorov performer already.”

He put his arms out defensively by his side. “Okay, okay, had to try, but I get it. People want to place you in a box. Get just enough info to do that, as quickly as possible. It’s easier for us to compare people to something familiar and easy to understand. A reference point. Based on our names, jobs, education, heritage.”

“Yes, exactly. See that makes me angry. It’s so avoidable! But we do it cause it’s easy. No second thought given to it. You’ve probably already put me in a box, given my accent and looks!” Melissa sighed in frustration.

“Yup, a lovely box labeled ‘Stunning Stranger’.”

Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “Has that line worked for you before? Like ever?”

“Don’t know, you just witnessed its debut, and I believe also its early decommissioning”, he made a sad face. “So am I now in the box, or maybe the shipping container, of guys trying to impress you with sad pick up lines?”

“Nooo! I love cheesy pick up lines! They’re so underused and undervalued. So keep them coming!” Half way down her third drink, she was starting to feel more payful. Or maybe it was his company? “Here’s a classic one for you: Are you wi-fi? Cause I’m totally feeling a connection.”

“Ha…ha…ha…“, he did a slow-clap for her. “Mine was heaps more original than your run of the mill repertoire!”

She threw him an angry look. “Did you mean to say: one, how wonderful, I feel it too. Two, WiFi? No, I use mobile data, but I’m still picking up the signals you’re sending, beautiful. Or, three, I’m grateful I’m not in that box, and I won’t box you for your pick up lines either.”

Now it was his turn to chuckle. “Ah yes, much better choices than mine. I’m gonna go with the option that lets me call you beautiful.” He winked at her.

“Okay, I like cheese but now you’re bathing me in a fondue of it.”

“Gotcha!“, her companion said with a pretend stern face. “So, where from here? No introductions, no boxing, no cheese. Let’s try a less controversial topic.”