September 13th, 2008


(no subject)

So six weeks ago, I was riding the subway, which I never do, and so I was nervous, and I was glad when someone walked up to me and said hello and started talking. He recognized the shoulder bag I was wearing because he used to have one just like it, and he really liked it, but then it was stolen. We talked about shoulder bags for a while, and what we liked about them, and I was glad for it, even though neither of us probably cared all that much about shoulder bags, because sometimes the content of a conversation isn't as important as the unspoken declaration that we're all human and that is, in itself, interesting.

Or so I thought. As we pulled into a new station with better light, I noticed that he wasn't another human at all, but a half-empty bottle of mid-grade gin.

By then we'd exchanged phone numbers, because he'd told me about a trendy new bar downtown, with a narrative-laden and confusing premise and backstory. Something about how the bartender was actually a mathematician who went mad, and somehow the drinks were part of his plan to do something strange, and by going there, we were all parallel computers in his grand plan. I didn't quite follow the story, really, because we were on a train, but it sounded like it would be a lot of fun in an awkward, high-premise kind of way. So we made plans to meet there later.

Three weeks ago, we both rescheduled -- I had a Las Vegas Haters conference in Las Vegas that weekend, and he had been left in a freezer and was not liquid enough to go out. And so we made plans for another night, and our separate calendars didn't merge again until tonight.

So tonight we went to the bar, and I didn't think about it until I got there. I'm a person, he's a bottle of gin. We got there, and, oh yeah, we were on the opposite sides of the bar. I don't know the etiquette of it! I didn't know whether to drink him, or if that would be threatening, or if I should ask, or avoid asking, or complain about the people, or complain about the other bottles of gin, or just pretend like it was a place for socializing and not at all for drinking bottles of gin like him.

I tried striking up a math conversation and it just didn't go, so I pretended I'd just gotten paged with a work emergency and I came out to write this.

And I just realized that, hey, he had a new shoulder bag from the same place I got mine, so, what, was the bottle of gin thinking it was a date or something? Because I'm a teetotaller.


Then I realized, wait, how does that gin walk, talk, wear shoulder bags, et cetera, et cetera, but before I could really figure it out, I realized, hey, that was a nice shoulder bag!