25 July, 2009

My role in the travel food chain.

So here's my current problem: I am surrounded by beautiful women. We have the aforementioned French Canadian Sparkle Motion gang, we have a pair of just-turned-twenty-one-and-love-Watermelon-Pucker Latinas from Kansas, and we have what looks to be a woman closer to my age who has enough fashion know-how to make a striped sweater work with a plaid skirt, then she ties it together with cowboy boots and accessorizes the ensemble with a bandanna around the neck.

It's almost like if this guy had a nightmare about Gary Cooper fucking Cindy Lauper.
So there's my dilemma: I'm surrounded by a half-dozen women of varying ethnicity and age. And you know who's checking me out? None of them, no.
There's an eleven year old, or at least she's probably eleven, I figure she's either ten or twelve so I split the difference, who keeps sneaking little peaks at me. Honestly, it's kind of cute because I remember when I was that age and I was exposed to social situations where I had to interact minimally with women more than twice my age while being dragged along on vacation with my parents to any number of eight-hour-drive-away events in which neither my brother or I were interested. The hot waitress, the hot front desk lady, the hot snow cone girl, didn't matter; who ever she was offered a brief day dream escape from the stifling circumstances which was having to stay tethered to my parents and doofy-assed brother in 98oF* heat to walk around whatever Miles Of Quilts Inside A Sheet-Metal Hangar Expo was occuring that year that my mom was losing her nut over and the old man would stand with my brother and I outside, chomping incessantly on one Winston after another, probably internally cursing the heat while out loud making damned sure that Joe and I knew better than to go about causing trouble which was an impossible feat when you consider neither of us was allowed more than a half a yard away from him. Really, Dad, would it have been so bad to give Joe and I each a buck or two and let us go to one of the freak shows or something at the county fair so we could marvel at the ingenuity of stuffing a fake kitten into a jar? Would it have been so bad? Huh?

Pictured: The source of my stunted sense of individual development and overinflated mistrust of the outside world. On the bright side, at least he didn't wear a fanny pack.
So, yeah, I get it. I get that this kid has been in the back seat of a car with parents who don't believe in air conditioning (Hey, it's what they told me when I asked if I could adjust the room temperature for them.) for hours innumerable and has finally come across an unrelated male of the species. I get that. I'm not going to gripe about some kid finally being granted subject matter about which she can day dream while she's here to visit her mom's second cousin or some other relative that she's never met that makes macaroni salad with apples in it and has weird TV stations. She's got something to focus on other than the fact that her dad wears a fanny pack. Cool. I'm not bothered by that; the way I see it, I'm a part of a long chain of travel industry workers that serve as day dream fodder for children who were never asked what they really wanted to do on a vacation. It's like I'm repaying my debt to society; for those women who are now probably a good deal into their late thirties / early forties who tolerated the eleven year old me peaking at them around corners, I now accept my role.
What I am bothered about is that, in the entire time that I've worked here, there has been only one woman my damned age who showed even the most passing of interest in me, and I think she was just being friendly. As in "friend". As in "nobody's gettin' in anybody's pants tonight". One woman. My type. More importantly (at least in the context of this post), my age. Happened just once. Months ago. Winter. Never saw her again. Never exchanged email addresses or...
At any rate, I'm surrounded by a half dozen beautiful women, none of whom show any particular interest in me.

*That's not "Fahrenheit", that's "Fuckin'".

ADDENDUM: You've gotta check this shit out.

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