Too Much Information
For lunch yesterday I decided that I wanted Chinese food. Beef and broccoli to be precise. And the closest place to my work that just so happens to fry a mean wok of B&B is the food court at a local mall. Unfortunately, the one caveat with going to any mall is the crush of people who all seem to know your exact lunch schedule and who make it their solemn duty to make life as difficult as possible for you during your precious few moments away from the office.
Thus went my lunch hour yesterday, fighting the hordes in my modern interpretation of “hunting and gathering”, securing an enviable table between to the entrances to Hot Topic and Abercrombie & Fitch, seated between a harried mother of three toddlers and two young women wearing long black dresses and latex corsets. Whatever, I tell myself. I’m hip. I can dig it.
But then I overheard a bit of their conversation:
Black Dress #1 (enjoying a corn dog and lemon aide): I mean, he knew my fetish. He knew I had a kink.
Black Dress #2 (eating french fries with mustard): Yeah? What’d he do?
BD#1: When I brought out the rope, you know the purple one? Asked me what it was for.
BD#2: Uh huh.
BD#1: And when I said “bondage”, that I wanted to tie him up, he said “No way”. Said “F that” and “F you, you crazy B”.
BD#2 (taking a sip of her Starbucks coffee): Fucking freak
BD#1: Exactly! Thank you…
Suddenly I felt like an interloper. An intruder. A naive trespasser to a conversation whose source is a dark and twisted underworld of deviance that can easily disgust and disturb the innocent and the uninitiated. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The words cutting, biting, and rubber were bandied about as easily as two mechanics discussing the merits of metric versus standard wrenches.
This conversation went on for another ten minutes, and during that time I couldn’t help but listen in, lost in the minutia of their their otherworldly thoughts and experiences, unsure if this entire thing was a put-on. A goof. Nonetheless, I found myself a third wheel to the bizarre interaction of two strangers happening just two feet away.
And you what to know what I found to be the most disturbing part of this entire experience? That one thing that will weasel its way into my dreams and haunt me to the end of my days?
French fries with mustard. Disgusting.