Have you ever met a person and literally questioned if their existence stemmed from planet earth? Yes, I accept that I may be that person to some people. But I am nothing in comparison to a girl who I truly believe is going to be my real life Kramer.
You see, I categorize weirdly weird people as "Kramer's".
You know, the kind of people who will say the unexpected, do the unexpected, and leave you feeling completely and utterly confused about absolutely every action they take. They might have a few screws loose or be just one sandwich short of a picnic, but the awful thing is, most of us don't care to know why they are the way they are. Because, most of the time, there just isn't a logical explanation for their lack of... how shall I say this... social normality's? We simply come to accept their offbeat ways, so as to protect our Ambien filled evenings from any more psychological disturbances.
Kramer, who's real first name is fittingly "Cosmo"... is Jerry Seinfeld's peculiar neighbor who lives across the hall in his apartment building. Kramer wears his hair... well... however it wants to wear itself on any given day. Kramer's wardrobe is that of a 90 year old retired Harvard professor. Kramer loves smoking cuban cigars. Kramer's subsistence thrives on making bizarre outbursts about insignificant annoyances. If you need someone to say something that may be inappropriate, uncalled for, or downright jaw-dropping, Kramer is your guy. He's completely disconnected from reality, to put it nicely.
Well folks... I seem to have acquired myself a Kramer.
Naturally, I realized the friendship was blooming on Friday the 13th. I was on my way to see "The Beauty and The Beast" in 3D, and heard Will Smith's song "Men in Black" as I was driving up the interstate. Let me tell you, that in itself gave me goosebumps and I thought, "Holy evening of throwbacks! Self, tonight just might be a night to remember."
If I only knew at that moment how very aligned with the stars my thought process was.
So, as any poor mid-twenties female does before she goes to the movies, I parked my car at Target and made a Bee line for the candy aisle. Once the necessities (Trail Mix, Junior Mints, Hot Tamales, and Cookie Dough Bites) were all accounted for, I felt myself slip into a mind-numbing daze, forgetting the worries and woes of the past work week and approached the check-out line. And that's when it... or actually, she... hit me. Metaphorically speaking, of course... though, I wouldn't be surprised if that in fact happened.
I knew it when our eyes met. I recalled her from my memory a few months back. Let the record show that I rarely shop at this particular Target, and I had not been back since the first time we'd been acquainted. She had stringy, dirty blonde hair, one of those nose piercings that makes people look like a bull, or a future steak dinner, and her left eye was somewhat of a drifter. I remember feeling that my personal-bubble-space had been invaded when she asked me why I kept pink Mace dangling from my keychain for the the world to see and if I felt that I would scream or sprint if a rapist tried to attack me in a dark alley. What kind of person asks strangers such personal questions? She spoke to me as if we had been close buddies for years. She had a line of about 8 impatient people behind me, but she felt the need to badger the crap out of me until she was satisfied with my answers to her inquiries. My skin, which was now covered in a film of creepiness, crawled the entire drive home.
You'd think I would have learned my lesson and make attempts to scope out the cashiers before entering into their professional domain. But here I was, once again, face to face with my real life Kramer. On this particular day, she was wearing a Hello Kitty headband. I don't what it is about adults sporting Hello Kitty gear, but they seriously erk me.
Here's how our conversation went...
Her - "Smuggling all this into the movie theater, eh?"
Me - "Yea."
Her - "Wow, that sure is a lot of candy."
Me - (Embarrassed and more than likely blushing) "Oh, it's not all for me."
Her - "Well that's good, at first I thought you were alone... which would be really depressing. People that go to movies alone depress me. But it would make sense, because you have so much candy."
Me - "Yea, well, I'm meeting someone. I'm not alone."
(The people behind me were burning holes through my body with their eyes and the people behind them were pouring salt into my wounds via snickering.)
Her - "Hey! That's so weird!"
Me - "What's that?"
Her - "Your total is $6.66."
Me - (Under my breath) "Perrrrrrfect."
Her - "Gosh, I have a really awful feeling about tonight! Do you ever have that? You know, like something terrible is about to happen!"
Me - "Not really? But good luck with that."
She ruined my movie. And potentially the rest of my life. Because now, I'm stuck with that "awful feeling" that I'm going to continue having run-in's like this with her until I'm 6 feet deep, pushing daisies.