Smashed

I found the driver’s side window smashed on my car yesterday. At first I wondered if I had made anyone extremely angry recently. This, however, is unlikely. Just the other day I was speaking to Jon about a former roommate of ours who had a problem with me. Yet another mutual former  roommate of ours had said to Jon, “You know if you have a problem with Bill, there’s something wrong with you”, speaking of my general good nature. And I thought, Yes I suppose that’s true. I am terribly likable. But still the thought occurred to me that I may have offended someone.

The neighbors I threatened for their obnoxious sex came to mind. Later, I discounted that possibility for reasons I will soon disclose. Briefly I thought that somebody from the bad neighborhood a block down had robbed me but then I noted the obvious fact that the window was not smashed all the way through but rather still held in place, although with a fly-wing pattern fracture throughout. And finally, I reasoned that karma had finally caught up with me. It must have just been some clumsy drunk stumbling into my window, or perhaps a random act of vandalism.

I did not react with anger. I pushed the small shards out onto the parking lot pavement and swept them up and then called dad to see if he could do something to fix the problem for cheaper than an auto body repair business would. He said he would see what he could do and will be here to visit Manna in a couple days at which point I have no doubt he will come through with a new window. I am unlucky to have my window destroyed, but lucky to have someone in my life with auto body skills, which I still regret I did not bother to learn from him all the while I was growing up.

One thing I have learned from this: Throughout adversity, I am ridiculously cool headed, and for that, I do rock.

Except for when it comes to pet peeves. Then my cool vanishes.

Later that day – yesterday – I was returning to my car – now with a packaging tape patchwork window -- after walking through Munsinger Gardens, which is not an abnormal thing for us solitary people to do, and this girl on a bike approached me.

I have recently been playing around on the internet, looking at dating sites – I AM NOT ASHAMED – and sometimes I come across a girl who catches my interest. More often than not, she is not interested in me. Recently, I arranged a meeting with one in Sartell, about ten minutes north. I’m not sure that she is right for me, but she may not feel the same. Isn’t that the way it always goes? So, despite knowing that I sound like a lovesick teenage boy, I have to say that girls had been on my mind while visiting the gardens.

So when an attractive blond approached me in the park, I was briefly optimistic. She pulled up to me and said, “Don’t you live at my apartments?” I was not entirely sure who she was, but as I said, “I don’t know” I figured it out.

She asked if I lived in 1811, I said “yes”, and from there we established that she lived directly below me – potentially the wayward raucous love-maker whose life I may have threatened. I learned that she lived with her brother, who I had previously pegged as her boyfriend. From here, I ascertained that it was either she who was the offender or it was her brother and his harlot, and that I would give this blond the benefit of the doubt. She certainly seemed unaware that I had ever come pounding on their door.

However, my hopes did not get a chance to soar too high before I realized that even if she was not the offender, she was no Mother Theresa. She gave several clues, whether or not she was aware of them, of her licentious behavior. I learned that she was a banker, fond of beer, tobacco, and probably promiscuity. She was nice girl so I won’t put her down too much, but definitely not my type.

She asked me what I was doing around there and I told her I was just out for a walk. She said, “Well you must not have a wife or girlfriend then, walking out here all alone”. I answered affirmatively. She then said, “Can I ask how old you are?” I told her. We chit chatted for a while, about our jobs, future prospects, about my tattoos, where she was thinking about getting some (around her “bikini area”), and whether I had any hidden under my clothing.

She told me she was there waiting for a guy named Miguel who had asked her out at the bank in which she worked. He was late, and I hated to leave her there, waiting alone, but because I knew we had no future together, I said I had to leave. I’m glad she didn’t ask why, because I had devised no escape excuse. She told me not to be a stranger and I left intending to be exactly that.

Unfortunately, although I know it would be unwise, I am left with the knowledge that if ever I am feeling especially lonely, willing company lives just nine feet below me. What a backwards universe. If they have good hearts, they aren’t very attractive, if they are attractive, they are disloyal and self-indulgent. My problem is my own fault. If only I could learn to be less shallow…

Fat chance.