He Said, She Said
January 27th, 2010

“Do they really need to send one every week? Are there really that many different products to advertise that they need to throw them at you every week?” he asked.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“I think they’re just pushing sales; like, the more you see it, the more you want to buy it.”

“I’ve never bought anything from them and I hardly look at the catalogs.” she replied.

“If you haven’t bought anything, why are you getting the catalogs? Did you sign up for their mailing list, hoping for a discount?”

“No, I don’t like mailing lists. They come addressed to the woman who lived here before me, I think, but I don’t know anything about her or her intimates.”

“Would you have asked though? Don’t women talk about things like that?” he asked.

“No, I wouldn’t have asked her, she was much older than I am, besides, women don’t talk about intimates with strangers, they have to be friends.”

“Oh, I thought it was universal. Would you have told her about your bedspread and your guilty feelings about it?”

“That would’ve been less awkward, but still I don’t think so. Do men do that sort of thing? Talk about intimates and bedspreads?” she asked.

“Ha ha, definitely not bedspreads, not manly enough. As for intimates, we don’t have the same…variety as women do, so no, we don’t talk about ours…but we talk about our females’. Men prefer to boast about their success in business, or how much they can drink. Men are simple creatures.”

“Not all men are like that, I’m sure. I know a few decent men. My father was a decent man, a gentleman; chivalrous and intelligent.”

“I’m sure he was. I was making a generalization of most men.” he said.

“I see. So these general men, do they boast and share with strangers?”

“Of course. That is if they think they can trump the other man, be the alpha.”

“And they have no problems discussing personal details with complete strangers?” she asked.

“Nope, no problems.”

“I don’t think I could do that; share things with people I’ve never met. I’d feel like I was being judged.”

“Well, everyone judges everyone, that’s a fact.” he said.

“Do you judge me?”

“Yes, but not by your clothes or bedding.”

“Oh? By what then?” she asked.

“By how you perform at work; how you assist the boss as his secretary.”

“What? What do you mean? I’m not a secretary.”

“Fine, fine, “administrative assistant.”” he said.

“No I’m not either of those, and I never have been or plan to be. I’m a barista at the café on the corner, you know that.”

“Uh, no, I’m pretty sure you’re a secretary, I pass by your desk every day and flirt with you while I’m making copies and today you told me to call you.”

“No, I’m sorry, you must have mistaken me for someone else.” she said.

“So this isn’t 567-6348?”

“No it’s 567-6384, you’ve miss dialed.”

“Well, this is awkward. I’m sorry to have bothered you then.” he said.

“It’s alright. I suppose I mistook you for a delivery guys who stops by every other day.”

“This will make quite a story to tell our friends, about how I called the wrong number and talked to a stranger about personal things.”

“Yes, you’re right. I guess I learned something from our talk: it isn’t too hard to share with a stranger if you think of them as someone else.” she said.

“I suppose I didn’t waste you’re time too much then?”

“No, I suppose not. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, thank you. Take care, Ms. barista.” he said.

“You too, Mr. office worker.” *click*