Scene: My office in the West Loop. I’m listening to Mojave3’s “Out of time” on my laptop at work. Lyrics to mellow music go like this: “I was drunk when I met you; I was drunk when you walked out the door; I spent my whole life looking for you, oh, well, I guess you never knew.”
Dan: (my office mate) You’re not listening to that because you’re sad are you?
Me: Maybe.
Dan: Jesus, you’re not still upset about that guy? Are you?
Me: (slightly ashamed) Um, maybe.
Dan: (exasperated) Ok, well, if you’re still upset then at least listen to something that’s a little more fitting to the situation.
Me: (quizzically) Fitting? What do you mean, “fitting?”
Dan: Well, you weren’t drunk when you met him, you walked out the door and he’s definately not looking for you. And, uh, no offense, but the guy who’s singing is, like, ‘cool’ pathetic. The guy that you are upset about is ’sad’ pathetic. A song about him should be something more like, “I’m a neurotic mess; I use people; I’m too busy obsessively folding my laundry to miss you.”
Me: (offended and through clenched teeth) Well, I’m sorry if they don’t make breakup songs for women with my special needs. But romantic songs feed a fantasy; they are not practical…it’s not like the tampon industry…
Dan: (raising his hand) Stop right there! I stop listening to conversations whenever the word ‘tampon’ is used. Fine, listen to your sad song. But the only person who’s going to be drunk because of you is me, because I’m going to be in the corner over there downing a 40. It’s the only way I can deal with you when you’re like this.
Me: (My ears perk up, a small look of hope crosses over my face) Really?
Dan: (exhausted) Sweet mother of god.
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