The ATM, Red Shirt Guy & Romance.

There is something romantic about having a ten minute connection with someone you will never meet again. And I think that it is that romance that made me feel so happy inside, that Saturday evening. I was waiting in line at the only functioning ATM at the market. There were five people in front of me, the woman from the tattoo parlour, a guy, another guy, second guy is the focus of this string of words, and two girls carrying Forever 21 bags.

So I noticed Guy 2, also known as Red Shirt guy, and I glanced at him. I was tweeting, minding my own business. And one by one people left, and the Red Shirt guy was standing on the side. So as I got closed to the ATM, only Red Shirt guy stood between me and my cash but I didn’t know if he was waiting in life or not. So I asked him, “hey, are you waiting in line?” And he replied, with a strangely accented voice, something close to a pseudo-American accent, “Yeah, I have been waiting for quite a while actually. Developing my patience.” I giggled and murmured something incoherently. Busying myself with Twitter again, I was surprised when he introduced himself and started talking to me about my very ‘punny’ sweatshirt, Leave Lit To The Prose. I started explaining the technical definition of prose and was all smiles. He asked me what I do and flatly replied with a, “I study literature, third year.” I proceeded to ask him about his life and he colorfully explained his online marketing business with the best example he could have used with me, socks.

“I LOVE socks! People think I’m weird cause they’re like, why do you like socks so much and I’m like why do you not like socks so much?”

There it was, my explosion of feels for socks. And I think he was taken aback, unfortunately it was his turn and he did offer to let me go first, but I told him I would push him to the machine. He went, withdrew his money, hair flip and walked out, smiling and saying “Nice to meet you Sanya.” I replied with an enthusiastic, “Nice to meet you too!”

That was it.

I walked out of the ATM cubicle, my mother called, we squabbled about my new tattoo, and out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of the Red Shirt guy. For a spilt second I thought of going up to him and asking for his number, but another voice in my head said no. It said, “No, don’t do that, just let it be, give yourself the fodder for imagining how amazing and fantastic this stranger may be. Why do you want to ruin what you experienced in the past ten minutes?” So I didn’t, I joined my friends in Pizza Hut, hurriedly told them what happened and sat in a daze. Something about the conversation just struck a chord, in retrospect he wasn’t that impressive, in fact I saw him when I was leaving the market and he seemed a tad bit creepy. For some reason, that conversation, waiting for the ATM gave me something. It gave me a strange warm, fluffy sensation in my brain.

I will never see him, I won’t know his name, I won’t know what kind of socks he wears. And that is all okay.

The ATM guy, the Red Shirt guy, thank you so much for that wonderful conversation, whoever you are, wherever you are, I hope I never see you again because what I have will only be this amazing if I don’t.