Install Tally on the Peoples… What?

I met a holy warrior today in Chinatown. White, surly, stubborn as anyone you’d meet. He told me all the great secrets of his life, including how One Family owns all the Chinese restaurants on the road, how they all taste the same, and how the IRS is always looking the other way when it comes to their "tax time." He told me about Big Brother stealing his internet. He listened to Fox News radio. He read scathing reviews about liberal movies. He was God-fearing, meaning, God’s-enemies-slaughtering, meaning, hating all them Muslims, even though they bow to the same Lord.

I keep running into secrets about people while I work, and sometimes I wonder if I’m some kind of man-whore savant, given the way some customers react to me. So thankful they’re… moaning? A little? While they talk to me. Yesterday: "My God. You’re the first person to work so diligently on my… problems. It’s a breath of fresh air." "Have other problems? DVD players? I’ll sure fix them." "Oh. (as in, moan "oh,") no, it’s personal and I don’t want to get you involved. Boy, your mother raised you right." "It’s the company, Ma’am." "No. I’ve met other techs from the company. You’re something else. Someone did you right."

And somehow it wasn’t an awkward conversation. I say "somehow" because I talk to the customer, then move on when I’m done. The only thing I can think of is I come across as intensely interested in their lives. Not like I have ulterior motives, but like I love what I do, and I care about everyone around me. It’s true. I do. And I do. But I’m not even all that great a tech. I screw up. I sometimes take forever on a job that should take an hour (only because I’m new). But I’ve been offered two jobs since I started this one, and I’m CERTAIN I was come onto by two or three women.

The conversation isn’t awkward because I don’t care. Hahaha not in a bad way. Not like, "I don’t care what you have to say." More like, "I don’t care what you say to me. It’s interesting." And it is. Some 28 year old (I’m 29) just come in from Chicago to get her masters in social work wrote a "Chris’ Bucket List of Chicago Stuff" list while I worked on her installation, because I told her I didn’t like Chicago and, subsequently, my best friend lives in Chicago (best friend besides Cygnus of course). I talked a little of St. Louis, saw her eyes glazing over from disinterest, and asked her one question: If I were to go to Chicago for two days, and two days only, and I never went back again, where should I go and at what places should I eat?

She spent two hours talking.

The nuns I helped had an hour long conversation with me about men, in general–nuns always have this underlying, almost-obsessive interest in men. Almost a Wheel of Time Aes Sedai-type interest. Their mini boxer "hates men" because "we just never have them around." So when I got there, it barked like nuts and I went on one knee to pet it, it played tricks and licked and loved my face, and the nuns were astonished and stunned by the unnatural warmth this dog took to me. Yadda. Sister Mary wanted to talk to me about men on a personal level, even though she was eighty. And even though I couldn’t wrap my head around how it could possibly be important to her. But we talked. Not on a personal level–I’ve had enough judgment-eyes conversations with nuns when I grew up–but we talked. She had the whole-face smile that reminisced an almost child-like happiness of the world. It was nearly a complete look, except for when she recalled events (repair-related): Then her face grew cold and unyielding. Like two faces. A lot of nuns have that. Some are truly happy. Some take on the mantle of happiness like a grim shield.

I think people are dumb, mostly. I think people spend their lives looking at the world, not looking at themselves except in the mirror (how the world sees them). We’d go a lot farther, as a civilization, if we understood ourselves better.

I also have this problem where, when I can’t remember if I heard my phone ring, or something, I recall the sound of the phone ringing. Twenty minutes later, I’m not sure if I imagined the call because I had been trying to remember if I had heard it, or if it really rang. I’ve already nearly got in trouble for it.

One track mind. That’s how we men are.