Leahpeah : flawed but authentic

The pregnant girl in her early twenties came through the open doors on my right from the courtyard where the fountain tiled to look like snakeskin was happily spurting water in the air. She was in black stretch pants and a white cotton shirt with a drawstring at the neck. Her curling brown hair was piled high on her head in a loose clasp and fell down on her forehead and around her neck in places where it had become unruly and rebellious.

She had one hand stretched around to support her back and the other clutching an overstuffed duffle purse that was once cream or white but was now a shade of dirt. Union Station was busy and she looked focused on her objective of getting in the bathroom line.

The older woman came from the bathroom and headed directly for her. The woman’s right knee had no locking mechanism and subsequently with every step went much too far backwards and made her lurch instead of walk. It was clear they didn’t know each other from the look on the girls face. (more…)

A man on the train sitting ahead a few rows and across the isle talks to his friend and laughs with gusto. He’s mid fifties. His clothes, gut and hairline have seen better afternoons. He’s tired and creased. He smiles tightly and pulls his very full lips across his large teeth. His gaze strays from his buddy’s face only when females walk by. The people come stumbling from behind him from the sway of the train and he instinctively ignores all men. He senses a female of the species and his eyes quickly snap to her backside then jump down to her shoes and then back up to her bottom within a second. He doesn’t take in hair color. He doesn’t care about her blouse. Only the ass and shoes. I see his teeth when the women have on heels.

Girl in the red vinyl miniskirt on El Cajon Boulevard = sexy. Because when she bent down I saw the holes in her white cotton panties.
Shirtless guy in the El Camino in Hillcrest = hot. Because when he lifted up his arm to tap his roof to the beat of Sir Mix-A-Lot – Baby Got Back I saw the white deoderant chunks in his pit hair.
The gas sation on University = supah sexy. Because I haven’t seen gas below $2.00 per gallon in months.

I was only in the copy room for less than 5 minutes. When I got back to my desk, arms full of papers, something looked different but I couldn’t place my finger on it. I set the stack of papers down on the cluttered desk and then realized what it was. My chair was gone.

I looked over the cubicle and down the isle to the room center and the common work stations. I saw the man, right hand up to partially block his face from my view. “Well.” I thought, “He must have not been able to find a chair and kept looking until he found this one.” I walked down the isle towards him and saw empty chairs on my left and on my right. Huh. So, that therory isn’t really going to hold water. “Well, maybe he really had some heavy work to get done and it’s the only chair that ergonomically is right for his back.” I was really trying hard to cut the guy some slack.

And then I saw that mine was one of triplet chairs in the common area right next to him. One of them would have bitten his knee if he’d given it a sidelong glance. Only they were blue and mine was black. Ah. He only likes black. But his shirt was blue. And he was checking concert listings on the internet so the hard work thought wasn’t right either. I tried to catch his eye as I scooped up the sibling chair and pushed it past him back to my cubicle but he kept his face covered and only peeked at me from in between his first and second fingers. I guess I’ll never know what made him want to only sit in that particular chair. I’ll never know what made it worth the extra effort to stakeout my comings and goings so he could swipe it covertly while I copied.

Maybe just because it’s the chair that touched my butt.

Please don’t take my Swingline stapler.