1. Walk up to her and say confidently ‘may I join you?’
knowing full well that she will be polite and reply ‘of course; please do’ and I
won’t know whether what she’s really thinking is ‘Oh, my God. Can I face spending
ten minutes with this jerk? Think, think, think… What’s a suitable excuse to
make an early exit? How about I have to
go now or else my dog will become fractious and dig a hole in the carpet.
Will he believe it? OMG! OMG! OMG!’
2. Walk past her, smile and say ‘hello’ in my most smiley
voice, and then occupy another table. There’s a danger, is there not, that she
might think ‘Does he imagine I smell bad or something? Does he think I’m not
good enough to warrant his company? I’ll blank him the next time I walk past
him – you just see if I don’t – arrogant, miserable git!’
It’s a dilemma, isn’t it? But here’s a bigger one: suppose
we cross paths in the town and the following conversation ensues:
‘Hi, Jeff. How are you?’
‘Do you want me to say I’m
fine, thanks. How are you? or do you want the truth?’
‘Erm… I’ll take the truth.’
‘OK, most of the time I feel tired, ill, cold, depressed,
and lonely.’
‘Oh dear. Poor you. Can I take you for a coffee?’
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why do you want to take me for a coffee?’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Because people never invite me for a coffee. They never
invite me to tea. Neither do they ever invite me to dinner, nor to soirees on
the terrace on balmy summer evenings while a string quartet plays Bach at a
respectful distance. I’m not the sort of person to whom people extend
invitations.’
‘Oh well, suit yourself. Bye.’
So there you have it – heart in mouth every time I go near a
coffee shop, which is why I’ve added to my prayer script: Please don’t let me meet people I’ve long wanted to talk to, and most
especially don’t let them invite me for coffee. The loner gene is there for a
reason. Thank you.
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