#89, Joshypants.

Oh you. You walked by my work one day and loudly declared your love for me to all who would hear it. i flushed a deep shade of red and all of my co-workers just laughed, and laughed... you yelled as you continued by: i don't normally do this sort of thing! i'm drunk! he made me drink whiskey! Your friend grinned and pulled you along. i thought that was the end of it.

 Weeks passed and eventually i came to realize that you worked for Greenpeace, often standing in front of the grocery store near where i worked. i had to walk past you every time i went inside, which was multiple times a day. Your partners in crime all knew who i was ("the red-headed woman of my dreams!") and it killed me.

Then one hot summer day, i brought special glasses to work because i found out that Venus would be transiting the sun. My co-worker and i stood on the sidewalk in front of the flower shop, staring up at the tiny black dot in wonder, trying to entice passers-by to enjoy the celestial sight as well. You came sauntering up while i was helping a customer; i watched as April gave you the shades and heard you when you asked where she got them from (she pointed at me), sighing and saying of course you got them from her. i couldn't understand how you could possibly like me so much, someone you'd never even spoken to.

But that very next minute, you were there talking to me, with your co-worker asking me all kinds of personal questions, being a very abrupt wing-woman. i began to blush so fiercely i had to turn around, and she exclaimed that my very ears were turning crimson... i have never felt so on display in my life. It was terrible! But i blamed her, not you.

Later when April went inside for her lunch, you asked her how to get my attention. i had told her the day before that i was particularly fond of the oddly-shaped (mutant) bell peppers in front of the store; she told you this and when she came back to work she had 4 in a bag for me, purchased by you. Your number was written on a piece of paper inside and it just said: call me! -Joshypants. This had literally never happened to me before in my entire life, and i was 32 years old.

i went home in a state and put the peppers in my crisper. i never really ate bell peppers at home. i didn't know what to do with them. So i stared at them for a few days before realizing that i would feel awful if i just let them rot, symbolically allowing a chance at love to go bad before even giving it a try. So i made fajitas with them, diced them up into omelettes, dipped them in hummus. They were new, and delicious.

Finally one day (how much later i could not possibly tell you, but it was after other attempts you made to ask me out: for a walk, or to read a book or play chess in the park) i texted you. i had only just bought my first-ever cell phone a few weeks prior and had never texted a boy before. i explained that i was so flattered by your attentions, but that i had just broken up with my boyfriend of twelve years not two months before. (This was true.) That i was certainly not even remotely close to dating, and that i hoped you'd understand and that we could still talk as friends when you walked by the shop.

You were sweet, but persistent. You said you weren't asking me to marry you, just go out for a walk. Which, honestly, looking back: i should have taken you up on. But my heart was broken– i was broken. It was hard enough just to pick up my own body parts, gather them cohesively and walk them by myself to where i needed to go each day. The thought of having to give a single ounce of energy or attention to someone else was simply beyond comprehension.

But i will say this: you gave me hope. For the first time in a long time. You helped me to free myself from a long sentence of solitary confinement in a prison that i hadn't even realized i was in. You were like a little bird, calling to me from a garden wall. Hey you! Come over this way! Let's see what's over here!

Eventually, you moved on and got a job somewhere else. We still saw you riding your bike by the shop from time to time, sometimes stopping to give me a sweaty hug and tell me how pretty my eyes were. i actually still miss you to this very day, and was sad that i never got to say goodbye to you when i left San Diego. Hope all is well, dude. You truly do deserve someone special.
i hope you found her.

#84, Dick.

He walks by my work twice every day: on the way to the beach and then back again about 2 hours later. A short, hunched, sprightly man with a belly, he always wears a pair of jeans, a baseball cap, and a Hawaiian shirt. He walks duck-footed and has a gruff but cheerful speaking voice.

One day i got in the elevator with a mountain of groceries and there he was! in the elevator in my building! We were both shocked, until we realized that we both lived here– one of those obvious, but surprising, things. From then on i got a 'hey, neighbor.' every time he walked by.

When my bike was stolen about 2 months ago, he was so angry. i put up a sign with a reward offered, and waited hopefully. Then one day, about a week ago, he told me he had an old bike i could look at if i was so inclined. Realizing that Pierre (my trusty mint-green Motobecane road bike) was truly gone, i accepted his offer, even though he had no idea if it was a mountain bike, a beach cruiser, or what. He was so insistent that i look at it, and i was so convinced it was going to be a 10,000-lb. rusty dinosaur, that the whole interaction found me feeling more than a little apprehensive; how could i say "no, thank you" to this sweet man who obviously only wanted to help but didn't understand my specific needs (something i could lift easily which had several gears)?

Finally the day came, and i followed him out to where he kept this old bike. He whisked away the dusty cover and, lo and behold: it was a silver Motobecane Mirage! It looked almost exactly like Pierre! i was stunned into silence. At first i thought he had actually gone out and procured a bike similar to mine just to be nice, but as we talked more and i looked closely at it, the truth became known. It had belonged to his stepdaughter, who passed away due to drug use some years back. It had been sitting there collecting dust for about 6 years; there were some rust spots and the rubber tires were well into crumbling away to dust.

i expressed my condolences and offered to pay him for it, but he refused! Then i offered to bake him something in exchange, which he also refused. Thanking him profusely, i wheeled it upstairs gingerly and waited for my boyfriend to get home so i could watch his jaw drop in astonishment.

After taking it to the shop for some new tires and basic maintenance, it has become clear that this probably cannot be my replacement bike– mainly, it was built for someone a good 8 inches taller than me. (i could tell that it was a bit bigger than Pierre, but forgot that Pierre himself was a tad too large for me to begin with, just not noticeably so– this one was noticeable.)

So, i'll put some money into it and see what happens. i'll probably ride it around for awhile until it starts to get uncomfortable, then see if i can sell it or trade it for a smaller one. The point is that Dick swooped in, like a knight in shining armor, and saved me from what i didn't really realize i was avoiding: the process of shopping for a new (used) bike. The running around to different bike shops (difficult in sprawling San Diego), the meetings with sketchy people on Craigslist, the chance-taking of eBay, and the stress and inevitable disappointments of it all...

He made me remember the line, "i have always depended on the kindness of strangers." What a truly kind and generous individual.

i ended up giving him a thank-you card and a loaf of banana bread; i can only hope he's not diabetic or gluten-intolerant. (Man, thanking people with baked goods used to be so much easier!)

Thank you, Dick!