A Good Friend

Fun Fact: I’ve got a good friend whom I’ve never spoken to and whose name is completely unknown to me.

Now, after reading the above statement, I’m going to guess at your initial response, based entirely on your gender:

Guy: “Lucky.”

Girl: “What??”

Yeah, guys often tend to value efficiency and simplicity in matters such as these, opting to instead save their brains for other things, such as determining the mathematical chances of their favorite team making the playoffs or trying to figure out how to talk to girls.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make here is that simplicity is generally good for guys, which goes a long way in explaining my good friend whom I’ve never spoken to and whose name is completely unknown to me.

Let me elaborate:

Not far from my house is a paved, thee-mile loop, perfect for jogging, walking, and evading the local authorities. I’ve taken to using it quite often, which means that over time I’ve had to develop a specialized technique for encountering others going in the opposite direction. The point of this is to minimize the chances of social interaction, since—at least in my experience—social interaction inevitably leads to social awkwardness.

Now, after reading that last statement, I’m going to guess at your initial response, based entirely on if you know me personally or not:

You Know Me Personally: “I can see that.”

You Don’t Know Me Personally: “What??”

Yeah, sometimes I tend to overthink things, but it’s all in an attempt to keep things simple in the big picture. Anyway, my technique works as follows:

When I encounter somebody on the trail, I initially hope they’re so engrossed in some activity—such as looking at their phone, wondering why they brought their 800-pound, high-velocity dog along with them, or evading the local authorities—that they won’t even notice me pass. If, however, they’re paying attention to their surroundings, I glance in their direction for the briefest of moments, just to be polite. With any luck, we won’t make eye contact, leaving me to conclude that this person is either too snobby to waste time on me or too busy calculating playoff probabilities in their brain. Either way, I can then happily avert my gaze and keep on trucking, satisfied that I tried to be polite. If, however, we end up making eye contact, I will reluctantly nod. (A downward head nod, mind you, not an upward one, as those should be reserved for spouses, other loved ones, and Cy Young Award winners.) Bear in mind, now, that eye contact and a nod is an absolute worst-case scenario, as it can lead to return nods and perhaps even {shudder} waves. (There’s no coming back from a wave. After you exchange one of those, you’re obligated to repeat the process every time you encounter that person until the end of time. In fact, if you ever find yourself in such a predicament, moving to a different state may be the only way to extricate yourself.*)

This brings us to my friend, whom I met on the trail years ago and still see quite often. When we first crossed paths, I did the ol’ polite glance over in his direction, but he was having absolutely nothing to do with it. His eyes were fixated intently on the ground right in front of his shoes, making it obvious that he wanted no part in meeting new people. However, what made this different from other encounters I’d had was that I sensed there was nothing rude or snobby about it. Instead, it was just coldly-efficient and businesslike. I then felt something wash over me, like he was reaching out to me telepathically with the following message: “Look, I’m here, you’re here, and it’s going to keep on happening, so let’s not make a big deal out of it, okay?”

And so, right off the bat, I liked the guy. I mean, who wouldn’t? From the get-go he’d put us in a position where we’d never have to speak to each other—or even attempt eye contact— no matter how many times we met! That in itself deserved maximum respect!

Since then I’ve bumped into him many times, and it's always been the same thing: Head down, eyes to the ground, no attempt to even acknowledge my existence. He’s amazingly consistent, to the point where I’m pretty sure I could walk past him wearing a giant chicken costume and he still wouldn’t bat an eye. Regardless, due to his blunt simplicity and consistency, at some point I decided we were good friends, and as a good friend I’ve found that I enjoy not sending him Christmas cards, not asking him about his personal life, and, in general, not knowing a single thing about him besides having a vague recollection of his facial features. That, in my opinion, is the basis for a solid, long-lasting relationship. In fact, I’d like to think that if we were to randomly meet in a grocery store, we’d both smoothly turn in opposite directions and inherently know to shop in alternating aisles until one of us was able to make a successful escape.

And you just can’t put a price on a friendship like that.

* I miss you, Wisconsin!

The Good Stuff

I’d been trying to ration what I had left, spread it out a little, even though it was an admittedly-foolish strategy. You can’t beat physics, and if you keep consuming without replenishing, eventually you’re going to be left with nothing; it’s just basic math. Plus, eventually it’s not even worth using anymore. Watered down, spread thin, it just doesn’t give the same kick. You’re better off not even teasing yourself with it, and I was now at that point. I was barely even using it once a day.

The problem was that my supplier was hundreds of miles away, and this was the stuff I never had sent to me via the mail. I always brought it back personally, in a bag in the passenger seat of my car. That way I never had to worry about some government stooge accidentally shipping it to the wrong state.

Of course, I could always get some locally. It wouldn’t even be that hard. Take a quick drive into town, find the right people, fork over a little cash, and the deal would be done. However, the local stuff was of inferior quality, and at this point I wasn’t even sure I’d consider it as a last resort. I’d probably rather take a long road trip, regardless of the howling wind and the sheets of snow sweeping across the horizon.

Then I remembered the old cabinet.

Hoping I wasn’t fooling myself—making up memories in exchange for short term hope—I stepped into the small room, swung open the door, and begun to scan the contents of the dusty shelves.

Nothing.

Ignoring the initial wave of despair, I swept some odds and ends over to one side, exposing a back corner, and suddenly my heart skipped a beat. There it was. A brown paper bag, just like I used to bring my lunch to school in.  With fumbling hands, I pulled it out of the shadows. It had a pretty good heft to it, and that was a good sign. The crinkling of the brown paper was loud in the room as I reached in, and a moment later I extracted a brick of the stuff. To say it was a beautiful sight was an understatement, as expressed by the wide smile that blossomed on my face.

Once the initial rush of excitement had passed, I realized I needed to keep track of my stash more closely, so as to avoid this ever happening again. I needed to chart my usage, measure my supply, and replenish early. Never again would I have to rely on finding an overlooked bag in a dark corner of an old cabinet.

I had to fight hard to keep from using it right then and there, and as the hours passed, my anticipation mounted. Finally, I could take it no more. I grabbed one of the bricks and admired it in my hand for a long moment, then stepped into the shower.

Yes, my mom’s homemade soap really was the good stuff.

The Gauntlet of Terror

I feel sweat beading up on my forehead as I slowly peek out from behind my hiding spot, surveying the maze of danger lain out before me. My heart is pounding loudly in my chest, and I find myself continually having to wipe the cold sweat from my hands onto my jeans. Not exactly the way I pictured this day going.

Although everything looks clear now, I know I can’t allow myself to be lulled into a false sense of security. They’re most certainly out there, skittering around looking for victims, able to appear from seemingly out of nowhere in an instant, always ready to pounce.

I take a deep breath. Staying where I am is just as bad as moving around out in the open, and so I have to go for it. I have to at least give myself a chance! Selfishly, I hope they’re busy with others, allowing me the opportunity to slip through their perimeter and gain my freedom. I shake my head at the darkness that’s crept into my thoughts.

I wipe my hands dry again and slide out from behind cover. With my eyes darting about relentlessly, I move ahead ten yards or so before ducking behind another obstruction. Slow and steady, I say to myself. Calm and controlled. You can do this.

I slowly peak out again, and as I do, I see one of them on patrol, winding its way through the chaos, its eyes searching for another victim. I gasp audibly and duck back down, wondering how something so small can be so scary. I also wonder how it can’t hear my heart banging in my chest, for to me it sounds as loud as thunder. I squeeze my eyes shut, as if pretending it's not there will somehow make it go away.

A long minute passes, and miraculously I’m not discovered. Knowing I have to keep moving, I make sure my cargo is still secure and then peak out again. The coast is clear. For now.

The next few minutes are tense, with every nearby sound causing me to shudder in fear. My movements are sporadic and harried as I make my way towards the exit, using every bit of cover I can find along the way. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I can see it looming ahead, gleaming brightly in the late afternoon sun: the door to the outside world!

However, just as I step out into the open, ready to make a final run, I suddenly see one of them heading my way. I freeze in terror, knowing I’ve been spotted, and also that trying to hide would be useless. Now what? Is this it? Is this how it ends? I look around helplessly, but there’s nowhere to go, no escape to be had.

Then, just when I think I’m done for, my pursuer turns off abruptly, shifting its attention to a party of two off to my right. Those poor people! However, knowing there’s nothing I can do to help them, I decide to make a break for it, and a moment later my arms are pumping as I sprint for the door. I dodge various obstacles, weaving left and right, and soon a feeling of elation is welling up inside of me. Maybe, just maybe, I can make it!!

Then, just as I reach the self-checkout aisle, I hear a cute little voice in front of me, materializing from out of thin air: “Hello! Would you like to buy some Girl Scout Cookies?”

AAAAAUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!