Embarrassingly Awkward Should Have A Superlative

There is that one childhood love we will never admit to.

May it be that overrated boy band member you secretly sang songs with, that tacky local artist you pretend not to watch or your older brother's basketball buddy who was hotter than any professional player out there(or well, their hot counterparts if you're male). At least that's how the memory tastes whenever you run it on your processor.YES, i know you do, stop lying to your face.

To maintain my pretend credibility and hopefully retain some self-respect, I shall not name that person that secretly starred in my childish fantasies. Anybody in my circle of friends who reveals the identity of that man in the story will be shot.

It was one of those evenings when you know you've made an complete fool of yourself: that comic book feeling where in if you could face palm yourself so hard it hurls you to the past, you would have done it. BUT WAIT! as you're already in that puddle of shame, the world will be more than happy to add some more mud!

Murphy's Law: "If anything can go wrong, it will "

It was talent night, the very night any showcase-able skill decided to take the day off. Everyone was to deliver a song number and mine, to no one's surprise, didn't end up particularly well. Naturally, it felt as if all traces of of sanity and self respect were forcibly taken--not that i had a lot. As a desperate act to soothe my war-veteran nerves, i sought the psychiatric help of overpriced, commercialized coffee. I relished the idea of sitting in the couch, smelling the beans, a freshly brewed espresso with some bossa, all working together to wipe that painful memory.

Alas, I was out of cash!
So off I trotted to the nearest ATM, passing by a herd of those big vans (Not RVs)  for people who have attachment problem with their houses and just need it bring it with them all the time.

I barely took the first step to the flight of stairs that led to the money-dispensing machine and wait behind the funny looking man wearing a fisherman's hat on this topsy-turvy evening. Probably thinking i was a thief of some sort or well instinct, he turned his head towards me and we locked eyes. I was staring--he was GLARING. Now it could have been the effect of his bushy brows furrowing, trying to decide if he should call security or hit me using the trash can of receipts--which probably was a good idea.

The most logical thing to do was continue in towards the stairs, fall in line, act like he was such a douche for thinking he was the only one around who could use that card thingie and claim my coffee reward. Yes, i didn't do that. The moment it dawned to me who it was, i went for brilliant plan B. I'm sure you all know which person that is- OF ALL PLACES, OF ALL THE TIME I COULD ACCIDENTALLY BUMP INTO HIM. Plan B went a little like: plant my feet on the ground, keep yogurt spoon in mouth, stare...stare.. and walk back to where i came from.

brilliance has a way of escaping me when i need it the most.

"No! But i only need money to buy coffee,that machine ain't his! And besides, I'm not planning on taking advantage of him, i only squealed every time i saw him in the idiot box. Besides, my coffee is more important. NO. i need to get cash"


Those we're the words that hummed through my head that made me turn around and head right back to the ATM. Thinking he'd be done by now, i slowly marched to the machine. baby steps.big white van. baby steps.And here we are! Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Except he's still there. I called to all the brain cells in my head to function THIS ONE TIME. I took a deep breath and REPEATED PLAN B. As if he heard my cue, he stared at me again- menacingly if i may add.This time probably thinking i was a relentless stalker. Now a little variation to plan B: walk forward, head home.

Fearing that there would be more of these if i continued, i headed home feeling twice as drained of the self-confidence i was saving up for some grand occasion like getting married or the 10th year alumni homecoming and telling one of my former classmates how old she's gotten. Plus my insides we're screaming for not pulling up the poker face I've been rehearsing if I ever get to meet him  and I didn't get to have any coffee.

Now, i get by thinking the best possible outcome of that evening: He'll never know it was me. That IF i bump into him next time, i can pull out that apathetic face, pretend he was like everybody else and non-defensively say "Wow, you look different in person--in a good way of cours---what? no I've never met you in an ATM looking like an obsessed stalker. Not my psyche." And yes, I will smite and forever curse whoever reveals his identity.

well c'est la vie >_<