I sat on the sidewalk, pulled my new sexy thing out of my bag, and tried to find some free wireless to connect to. Had another 75 minutes, at least, to wait until “Firefly” at the Mission Theater started. Got here early and the line was already around the corner. I was alone. Again.
In spite of there being several signals, including one called “Mission”, I was unable to connect. Damn. Should’ve brought a book to read. I put my laptop away and stood up. Three 20-year-olds were bragging to each other about voting only to piss other people off. The guy ahead of me was playing Tetris on his cell phone. The girl behind me had called someone “Sweetie” on her cell phone. Time passed.
The girl behind me was slowly joined by several other people. She’d been holding a place in line for them. I wondered which one was “Sweetie” but she didn’t seem particularly close to any of them.
More time passed. The line compressed forward in such a way that I moved around the corner to the front of the building. I watched people walk by. The group directly behind me grew a bit larger.
The girl who had held the line tapped me on the shoulder.
I turned around, smiled politely.
“Is your Mac one of the new ones? With the LED screen? I saw you had it out earlier.”
No, I explained, it’s the first Intel model. I’d had it 2 years.
She said that she’d recently switched from Windows to Mac and she had one of the new, LED-backlit screen models. She loved it but had some occasional problems. We chatted about that for a bit, but my conversational energy slowly ran out.
A lull ensued.
The girl didn’t seem interested in talking to the rest of her group.
She turned back to me and asked me about the chickenbutt button on my messenger bag. I laughed and told her the reply: “Guess why? Chickenthigh.” We talked a bit more about other things, like “Firefly” and Buffy the Vampire Slayer and movies in general. I introduced myself; she told me her name was Sherry.
She would have been here with her husband but he was home, sick and asleep. She was originally going to hold a space in line for her husbands friend, Mike, but somehow it had expanded and she didn’t even know some of the folks in her group. She’d moved here from Florida, married and divorced and married again. I told her that most of what I know about Florida I’d read in Carl Hiassen books; she laughed and said it was pretty accurate.
And, after a bit, she asked me if I was there alone.
I said yes, started to say more, stopped.
She said, “Would you like to sit with us?”
I could not have been more touched. A stranger in a line, out of simple friendliness, invited me to join her group.
Of course I said yes. I thanked her. I wanted to thank her profusely but was able to stop myself.
It was exactly the gesture I needed.
I sat with their group. The last time I was here, I was alone and on the outside. Tonight, I was with friends. New friends, but friends nonetheless. When I bought a brownie to snack on, I offered some to the rest of the group. They saved me a seat while I stood in line for beer. And when laughter and conversation caused us to miss a line or two, we asked each other what we had missed.
And when Mike, sitting behind me, did a spit-take at a particularly funny scene, and I felt a gentle rain of beer droplets on my head, call me crazy but I laughed. Mike was mortified that he’d spit on me, but for that one night, I didn’t care. I told him he was fine. Mentally I made a note that if I sat with this group next week, I would use this as leverage to get him to buy me a beer… but it wasn’t that big a deal.
After the show, as we wandered out of the theater, I spoke to Sherry. We had discussed just how early a group would have to show up in order to have a good place in line, and I’d offered to get there very early next week to save a spot. Sherry gave me her card – she was a professional pet-sitter.
Of course she’d invited me to join her group. She takes in strays. How perfect! I smiled. And then I left.
I smiled all the way home. And next week I’m going to make Mike buy me a beer. It’s all good.