in a defensive rather than a sexual way! (Though Artemis did warn me not to escalate the battle immediately but rather to lay low in the manner of a strategic student of “The Art of War.”) I asked her if I should envision myself as Durga, a goddess with countless arms, each hand holding a different weapon, and thus prepared for any type of battle—be it one of vengeance or romance. Artemis looked bewildered, but said sure.
Empoweredly,
Roxy
August 2, 2012
Dear Everett,
I woke up this morning thrilled and trepidatious to know today is the day I would finally ask Patrick out. I put on my labradorite necklace from Artemis and as I dolled myself up with some of Durga’s weapons—a little concealer, blush, and mascara—I thought of Artemis’s advice that my invitation should be casual. “Nothing is more likely to scare off a slacker Austin guy than the threat of a REAL DATE!” she explained. “Invite him over for a home-cooked meal and he’s one hundred percent sure to stand you up. Ask him to meet you for a cheap beer in a dive bar and he’s ninety-eight percent likely to show.” (In lieu of biking, I drove with the air-conditioning cranked. I feared that if I pedaled into work in this heat, by the time I arrived I’d have sweated off all the makeup.)
When Dirty Steve smirked at me and asked me how my night at Emo’s went, I said, “Fantastic! I saw one of the greatest live shows of my life.” (The ability to conceal and reveal information as needed is another one of Durga’s weapons!) The quiver of disappointment in his face told me that he had indeed purposefully food poisoned me. I wanted to confront him right then, but I need this stupid job—not only does it cover my mortgage and provide benefits, it also offers me “free” groceries. And as they say: revenge is a dish best served cold (an expression with which Dirty Steve is clearly familiar because that past-its-prime sushi came straight out of the refrigerator case).
During a lull between customers, Nelson relayed to me that Jason was arrested last night for spray-painting “Stop Gentrifying East Austin” on stop signs on Holly Street.
“That’s insane!” I said. First, we natives of Austin cannot expect to stand by silently while everything we love about this city is destroyed. Second, what the fuck, cops? They seem to think it’s fine for white tweakers to cook meth night and day in a van on the south side. Law enforcement cannot be bothered to rouse themselves for such calls, chalking it up to the norm of a “hippy neighborhood.” Meanwhile, free speech by a young man of color in the form of perceived “vandalism” is an arrestable offense. My outrage about the whole issue was enervating.
It’s strange to say, but I felt generally energized and buoyed up, and not just by indignation at Jason’s arrest. In some way my disastrous puking, followed by the excellent pep talk from Artemis, has popped me out of my melancholy surrounding your egress and has imbued me with a carpe diem sort of feeling, not in a clichéd, modern-day mistranslated “Seize the Day” sort of way, but rather in the original sense that Horace intended in his great work “Odes” (23 BC). The literal translation of the phrase would be “pluck the day [as it is ripe].” It was time to use my newfound energy to pluck that tasty snack and a half, Patrick, right off the Beer Alley vine! On my break I went to the bathroom and put on a little more blush—to channel that rosy-cheeked goddess Venus—and then headed to the other side of the store. Sure enough, when I sailed through the sliding glass doors into the refrigerated Beer Alley, lined on both sides with every domestic and exotic beer imaginable (and all of them overpriced), there was Patrick stocking shelves.
“Hey, Patrick,” I said. “Any chance you have any Pliny the Elder?” Jason and Nelson often wax poetic about how Pliny the Elder is a beer both delicious and difficult to obtain. Apparently Pliny shipments arrive every first and third Thursday, and the beer is sold out by Friday noon.
“You like Pliny?” Patrick asked. His eyes lit up and I could feel them run the length of my body, as if taking the (physical) measure of a woman with such exquisite taste buds. (Luckily I’d removed my dirty deli maid apron before heading over to Beer Alley.)
“Delicious,” I said, afraid