Missed Connections

1) Starbucks; Newport Beach, CA: Your hair was too blond, your tan too bronze, your teeth too white, and your tits too big. You spoke in infantile squeaks, and ended sentences, both declarative and interrogative alike, with verbal curtsies. You sent your order back thrice. I was the hairy-chested, gin-blossomed Palm Beach prick in the salmon polo shouting at the mousey 16YO cashier over sold-out scones. I'm a moneyed malignant narcissist in the market for a purely transactional relationship. I pronounce “w” words with an “h” preface. I drive my Tesla like I just left a 3-martini lunch, which is often the case. Of course, “TRUMP” bumper stickers adorn it. Stick around, you’re sure to see a COP kick my ass when I try to impose my “master of the universe” delusion upon him as he's cuffing me for DUI.

Call Bryce Bolinger @ (857) XXX-XXXX.

2) Dollar General; Riverside, CA: We stood in neighboring checkouts. You wore compression socks and knockoff Crocs. I was buying gauze, Gold Bond, stool softener, Compound W, Preparation H, and corn remover pads. With a damp cash wad culled from your pendulous breasts, you bought canned food made for cats, from them, or both. I smiled, you barked, “Da hell is you lookin’ at?!”

Call Digoberto Asti @ (323) XXX-XXXX.

3) Lakeland, FL; Probation & Parole Office: You were trespassed for refusing to mask up. I was the redhead in a tube top bumming smokes from strangers. Our eyes met. I come from sprawling Catholic clans that condemn women to indentured domestic servitude, and men to raising their litters on laborers’ wages. I peel spuds, breastfeed with both barrels, and warn water-headed miscreants what’s coming when poppa come home.

Call Sheilagh Mulvaney: (857) XXX-XXXX.

4) CES; San Diego, CA: I was #48 in line yesterday morning. I paid you to sign a glossy of your bleached, Brazilian-waxed butthole. You ordered security to run me off when you realized that said pic was the work of telephoto lens. Your prudish take on what constitutes indecency aside, I paid for an autograph; I did not receive one. I read CES’ online disclaimer twice before signing; I’m not compelled to account for the provenance of images I proffer. I’ll be forced to file a civil lawsuit if this issue is not addressed with all due care, and exigence.

Call: Dana Snow @ (212) XXX-XXXX.

5) Coffee Bean; Toluca Lake, CA: Jennifer Love Hewitt: Fate brought us together today: You, as a patron, me, as a dead-end wage slave. I was the Shy Ronnie dead ringer servicing the restroom when you sailed in on angel’s wings. You’d think a sexy, TV success wouldn’t give a no count like me the time of day, but your LTR with, “comedian” Jamie Kennedy is proof that “where there’s life, there’s hope.”

Call Barry Begleiter @ (754) XXX-XXXX.

6) Gainesville, FL: I performed your first pelvic exam today. We were vibing, but couldn’t raise our game with mommy dearest in the room. My dexterous metacarpals, brined by scores of Lolitas in years past, nearly drowned in your salthoney torrent. You left, I locked the door, and inhaled sea air ‘til my head grew light.

Call “Doctor Digits” @ (352) XXX-XXXX.

7) Spring Hill, FL; Yitzak Gleib’s bar mitzvah: Your Little Mermaid costume “malfunctioned” in spectacular fashion when a frightened special needs child stomped its “fluke” during a dance number. The absence of undergarments beneath your sheer, form-fitting getup, only amplified the SNAFU’s fallout. I’m the semiprofessional magician who went on after you eloped in tears. Taryn, the binge-drinking sorority girl who served as my assistant, passed out inside the saw box at a most unfortunate time. Luckily, she survived, and is expected to recover fully from the waist up. The job’s yours if you want it.

Call Jeff Bornstein @ (818) XXX-XXXX.