Rescuing The Past -- (A.k.a. Dead Entries Coming to Life)

Current Mood Alert: slightly ashamed

As I can't exactly work out what happened to some of the old entries, I will try and rescue them one by one. 

I had forgot about this episode, and after reading the whole thing and actually remembering it all, I understand why my brain decided to make that decision...

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Fact is, certain people are magnets for certain things. 

I know a woman who is a magnet for burglars. And when I say a magnet, I mean to say that it's impossible to keep track of the number of times she's been robbed, the poor thing. My friend R.'s family is a magnet for illnesses, the rarer the illness the merrier. My brother is a magnet for potential-girlfriends' mums, this is, he's always the perfect son-in-law, although unfortunately for him, the girls don't always see this as clearly as their mums.

I've always been a magnet for, basically, two things. One, and I swear it's a mystery to me, are older-than-me men. Honest, there's no logical explanation. No matter if the girls I'm with are 984739457 times prettier than I am. Maybe they sense that my favourite actors, save one, are the likes of Anthony Hopkins? No idea.

The second, the absolute winner, is attracting impossibly surreal situations. People who know me in real life can attest that this is not an attempt of being funny. I happen to be some sort of mix between extrovert, hermit, and socially awkward at the same time so it might have to do with that. Or perhaps this is a perfectly normal occurrence for you, who knows.

The thing is that this afternoon, after classes, I stop by the supermarket before going home. Once I have my basket in hand and all, I realise that I have no memory of what I need to buy in the first place, so I decide to wander a bit around the isles in search of inspiration.

That's how I find myself in the cat food isle, even if I don't own any cat, nor any other pet for that matter. I am about to leave when I hear the sound of boxes falling off the shelves. To my left, an old man is picking them from the floor and, being the nice girl I am, I go to help of course. Just when I am picking up the last box, I see it.

Let's say that...well, the man has kind of forgot about the fly of his pants, which is totally open in a strange angle.But the fly is not the only thing he has forgot about, because, well, there is no underwear in sight, but other things definitely are.

My first thought, and I'm not proud of it but you never know, is my Pervert Alert boozing. But then I observe him, and he is paying no attention to me or to anyone whatsoever, so I discard it. Actually, for a few seconds I happen to be the only pervert in the scene. Although the truth is that I wasn't peeking intentionally, but more like having some inner battle:

"Come on, you can't let the poor man go on merrily shopping like that."

"Ok, but how in hell do you tell a total stranger that his pride is showing???" 

In the end, I just leave the crime scene in shame, and go on with my shopping, a random one because I still can't exactly remember what I need. But because my conscience is a bitch, I can't leave the place without checking if someone else has had the guts I lack.

I find my target in the cereals isle this time, so I spy on him -yes, spy- and the situation. And not only the fly in question is still open to the world, but also I observe how people have noticed, and instead of saying something, they are pointing and whispering and giggling. Soulless bastards.

The situation worsens by the minute. There I am, standing by the shelves, pathetically pretending to be making a big decision in front of the cereal boxes, while having another inner conversation about the best way to proceed. What should I do? I should just tell him. No no, I can't. But normal people would just approach him. Normal people are just laughing at him, the jerks.

Suddenly, and I don't know why I don't explode out of geniality right in the spot, I have an epiphany: IMITATION. I mean, how many times have we seen someone checking on his watch and have done the same? Or someone looking somewhere? So that is basically the plan. Check my own fly. And no, I can't believe that I thought that could be a good plan either.

Feeling still pathetic but hopeful, I walk towards the old man and stand in front of him, in an angle so that he can see me clearly.

He totally ignores me.

Ok. Time for Plan b: I take a couple of boxes and shamelessly drop them on the floor. That does the trick.

Old man: *smiling* "Oh, your turn now."

Me: *totally fake* "Haha...yes yes"

Old Man: "They (the boxes) must be in a wrong angle."

Me: *avoiding thinking about wrong angles* "Absolutely...haha"

As I am there talking to Target, I don't really find the moment to start checking my own fly of my own jeans and, to be honest, the idea seems less luminous somehow now that I am actually there. I can't see my face, obviously, but it must be a sight, because the old man, bless him, asks me if there is something wrong. I tell him no no, nothing thank you, and walk away, a total loser, resigning to the fact that I am a coward, and now I will have to suffer my conscience's nagging for the next few days/weeks/years...

I am about to turn the corner when I suddenly -and surprisingly even to me- stop on my tracks, start walking back, and stand facing the man.

"Sir, please, check the fly of your pants, for god's sake."

And I run.

Well, technically it wasn't running running, but almost. I barely stayed there long enough to hear his answer.

Mission accomplished.

Things I have learned today:

- My conscience is a lot bitchier than I thought.
- I am a lot more pathetic than I thought.
- Cat food is a lot more expensive than I thought.
- Nine people out of ten -ok, perhaps eight- have no soul, although I already knew this one, so not sure if it qualifies as new knowledge.

Somehow I feel that, if I ever do something of consequence for mankind and then people want me to write my memories and then I oblige, this afternoon events might have a tiny corner for themselves.