Kayla's Story

(The Freezer Aisle)

March 30, 2010.
The minute I passed the freezer aisle I caught a glimpse of her. I thought about it. I thought about it. But, then realized that I really should stop thinking it. I grabbed my bread, Country Milk White, walked back to the freezer aisle.

I thought about openers real quick. I was definitely going direct, because I’m so far beyond thinking about universal arguments that can be pried open as an indirect opener. The freezer door closed in on her body as she stretched out trying to grab a tv dinner from the back of the frozen shelves. I took it upon myself to withhold opening, and instead just opened the door slightly as for it not to crush her.

“Thank you,” she said. She threw the box in her carryon cart, and started to leave.
“Hey, hold on!” I said my eyes staring at her, “You have this really adorable down to Earth type of thing going on,” I said rather quickly.
“What?”
“You’re really pretty.”

Her eyes lit beautifully with contentment, “Oh thanks!” she tried willingly to pull some type of recognition remark but only just jumbled around several different words.

“Yeah, you sorta have a really down to Earth look, you’re not from around here right?”
She laughed as if I caught her spot on, “Yeah, I’m actually from South Dakota. I just moved down here, I really haven’t met any Midwestern people.”
“Midwestern people?” I said kind of confused, “You mean. . . California?” San Francisco maybe obviously.
“Oh nevermind,” she replied.
“So you’re from South Dakota, my sister’s actually from there. Well. Actually, my sister doesn’t live there, she, her, brother in law, I mean her husband, my brother in law…” I really should talk to people on a daily basis, “… lives there.”
“Oh cool!” she replied.
“Yeah, from what I heard it must be incredibly boring.”
“Well it is, I had to get out of there.”
“Cool, so what brings you to San Francisco?”
“Oh, school.”
“San Francisco State?”
“Yep!”
“Oh, that must be terrible!”
She gave out a large sigh, “… it is.”
“Yeah, there’s no academics, there’s no sports, there’s no sexy jocky guys.”
“… I know, I know,” she replied.
“So let me guess, you’re a Gemini,” I said pivotally, “… or a Capricorn or Scorpio.”
“Nope!” she said satisfyingly, “I’m a libra!”
“Oh so that means you’re easy going, which probably explains the TV dinners.” She laughed. “And you’re indecisive which means…” I fingered through her cardboard packaged meals, “you chose chicken,” I said pointing out the bottom box, “And beef!” I said pointing out the beef box.
Her head flailed back as she laughed.

“Are we done with the freezer aisle,” I asked.
“Yep!” she replied.
“You want to come with me to the jam aisle!”
Her lips hesitated for a moment, even though her body started walking with me. “Sure,” she replied.

“So I didn’t get your name,” I asked, “I’m Jonathan.” It’s different with slightly shyer girls. You kind of have to just lead the conversation comfortably, unlike HBs with bitch shields where everything has to be disarmed, regulated, and pushed forward aggressively.
“Oh it’s Kayla,”
“Oh really,” I said giving a defeated sigh.
“Why you don’t like the name Kayla?”
“It’s a cool name, it’s just my niece is named Kayla,” I replied.
“Oh,” she replied.
“Like there was this time last year where I was dating someone from work named Kayla and it was just really really weird.”
“Oh,” she replied listening to me attentively.

I really shouldn’t mention other girls names even if it’s the easiest way to fill up gaps in conversations and supposedly show that I do have a love life. It just puts off women.

We passed by the produce area as the smell of sharp gutted fish and ripped scales covered the area. “Wow, this place smells terrible,” she said.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to say anything because I thought it was you!” I said jokingly. Aww the amazing product of charming sarcasm; just beautiful. “Where’s the Jam aisle,” I said to myself but outloud so that Kayla could hear.

We turned into an aisle to get away from the fishy fish smell. “So what are majoring in over at SF state,” I asked her.
“Oh Political Science,” she replied.
“So you like arguing with people,” again; the beautiful ends of charming sarcasm.

We finally got to the jam aisle where I pretended to forget that I had Nutella at home. She told me about Orange Marmalade and how she refused to eat it when she was younger so they didn’t give her cookies. We ranted around several subjects such as the Green Peace Campaign, Grassroots, politics, political studies, and other stuff like peanut butter and sandwiches. We went off to search for cookies, and when the cookies were so overpriced, we went to grab peanuts.

“Great,”
“What?” she asked.
“There’s no peanuts.”
“Why don’t you get cashews?”
“Because they don’t have honey roasted ones.”
“Oh.”
“There’s only this dry saliva sucking one.”
“Why don’t you drink it with rootbeer,” she said.
I sat comfortably staring at her with speculation, “I’m guesing you’re not on an organic diet?”
“What? Rootbeer isn’t caffeinated, it’s okay!”
“… okay..”

We went to the cashier line when she told me she had to cook dinner for her roommate. I replied by saying, you mean you have to microwave your dinner. Good times! We talked for a second about Sandra Bullock because she was on the covers of several gossip tabloids.

“Yeah, I remember her from Speed, that was like 10 years ago?”
“Wasn’t that 1997?” she replied.
“1996,” I replied.
“Oh…” she replied. I lied, I don’t remember what year it was.

As the cashier got finished ringing her up, I asked her if she’s just gunna go on and leave me, she said she would stay. A girl came passed her, saying excuse me with quite severe intent. I stared a Kayla with intrigued eyes, and mouthed the words, “she hates you.”

“So this is my car!” she said as we walked into the parking lot.
“You have Mazda,” I said reaking sarcasm, “Japanese are we?”
“It’s not Japanese!”
“Yeah it is, there’s a Z in it.”
“So every car with a Z is Japanese.”
“Everything with a Z is Japanese,” I said, pretty much talking out of my ass, “like Zebras.”
“Zebras are from Africa.”
“You’re from Africa!”

I stumbled across a number close. I figured an IOI line, before a number exchange would be fine. It was okay, the delivery was a little more rigid than I would’ve hoped. She wrote down her name on my arm because I told her I just recently broke my phone, but when her name seemed a little too common, I asked her to put her number too.
“Okay I get a hug.”
“What,” she said laughing, “I don’t give hugs to strangers!” she said as she sat in the driver seat of her car.
“Would you rather a firm hardshake.”
“Yes!”
“That’s it,” I said indefinitely, “I’m coming in.” I climbed into her driver seat and wrapped my arms around her. She laughed.

I brushed Nutella onto two slices of Country White amazingness, and turned on youtube to listen to Asia, Heat of the Moment. It’s a good day.