Sometimes His Life There Makes Me So Jealous

I met a girl. I introduced myself and by the end of our short conversation, I asked her to be my girlfriend.

The entire sequence seems like a poorly written, or at least poorly acted sit-com.

I have been in Irontown for four months, and the closest thing that I have to a friend here is the lady who set up my checking account at the credit union. I moved here for a job from a real city, and I think the woman at the bank sees me as a bit of a novelty.

It is novel for a college-educated person to intentionally move to Irontown, instead of away from it. The novelty is so novel that most people are not sure what to think of me. It's not that people in Irontown have never seen a guy like me, but they usually continue driving after refueling.

This is why when the girl, Tina, told me that she would like to meet me every day, that she would like to go on a date with me, but that she couldn't, it just made sense.

"I'd kind of like to see you, but I'm afraid of what my friends might say. Your clothes are wrong. You're not my type, I can tell, we wouldn't get along," she had mumbled. I just laughed, what else could I do.

Just then her friend chimed in and said "get a clue."

Tina and I had met at city hall, where I was paying my water bill in person. She was there for something, I can't remember what. She has unnaturally black hair, cut to look like Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. She does not look like Uma Thurman, but I am a sucker for girls with black hair and black eyeliner. I think it's a reaction against my own, semi-permanent business attire choices.

I have always admired subculture, maybe even fetishized it. But I am not part of it, and would never be part of it.

Tina, in line with me, had turned around and asked me the time. I had responded that it was 12:14 and that my name was Brendan. And then she smiled, and it was a pretty smile.

Somehow, I talked with Tina for 30 minutes, well after our business was finished. I immediately liked her. She was the first person I had spoken to for 30 minutes in Irontown. She works as a bartender in a place I had never been. She sings at open mic night. She grew up in Irontown and takes classes at the community college. She likes the Pixies. She wants to leave, but she takes care of her mother. She's been to New York.

I like the Pixies. I've been to New York. I graduated from Michigan State. I'm an engineer. I sing karaoke sometimes. Call me maybe to be funny. I came here for a job.

"I know this is insane, but, I feel like, um, you could go with me, like we could date," I blurted it out. My game has always been limited, but this was bad even for me. Just then her friend arrived. She was pure Irontown. She sized me up and dismissed me.

I had enough, I made my way out.

That humiliation led me to the Kroger, where I obtained a bottle of wine and some cigarettes. I also picked up a racing form for the local dog track. For real, a dog track. Maybe I will place a bet for literally the first time in my life.

Irontown was a small place. I would definitely see Tina again. That's the thought I had as I swiped my hand across my car, brushing off a light dusting of coal dust that had fallen from the train cars that ran by the town.

I have a friend, who lives in Los Angeles. Sometimes his life there make me so jealous. He moved there after we graduated from college. His, now ex-girlfriend's friend, said he could crash at her uncle's place near Venice Beach while he was out of the country. He's an assistant manager at a juice bar. He's almost broke, but never seems like it.

While I am sitting at the computer, he texted me a picture of himself and a familiar looking black dude, obviously in a club somewhere.

"dude I met Dr Dre last night in hollywood. it was fire"

I need to get out of this place. Then change my name, and maybe get a new face.

My mother thinks he is insane. He might as well set his marketing degree on fire. I have a job in my field. I am an industrial engineer. I helped design the production line at our factory. Men twice my age call me "boss," albeit ironically.

Get a life man. I mean me.

After my bottle of wine, and some time with my computer browsing nothing, I called my friend.

"Jack, how the hell did you meet Dr. Dre?" I said when he picked up.

"Hey man. How's life treating you?"

"Well, I met a girl today and asked her out. She told me my clothes were wrong," I said.

"Cold. But, uh, what were you wearing?"

I looked down. "White button down. Khakis," I said.

"So, like, you are part of the Ladder Day Saints church or something?" He asked.

"It's a nice shirt man," I said. "And I was wearing Doc Martens."

"Hmm, anyway man, Dre! He was at this club. I asked his bodyguard if I could meet him and they let me in his little roped off area. Amazing," he said.

"You were wearing a Sublime t-shirt and jeans," I said. "Did he tell you your clothes were wrong?"

"No man. No. He really just shook my hand and took a selfie with me," he said.

"Hey man, um, are you still in Venice Beach?" I asked.

"Yeah man, I gotta find a place soon, but yeah," he said.

"I need to get a life man. Can I move out there with you?" I asked. It was the second time that day I took my shot.

"Of course man. I will even give you my Sublime t-shirt," he said.

*Editor note: This story is based very loosely off the song Metarie by Brendan Benson.