AN: Ahhh, here we have the profile I turned in for a composition class last week. This is the story my instructor/class got: "Oh there's this weird looking guy I always see at Panache' (local cyber cafe) and I think he'd be a really cool subject (insert big smile and batting of the eyelashes here)". In short, I win. As my friend Alice (who sits next to me in this particular class and KNOWS who this is actually written about) says, "It's lies! All lies!" She couldn't be more right.
Always with the laptops, always with the stripes, always with that oh so noticeably dyed red hair. The same table, every week from mid-June on he's been there, and I intend to find out why.
He's hard to miss. You'd have to put in some serious effort not to notice this guy in a regular, every day setting; His fashion sense just reaches right out and slaps you across the face.
I'll start with the ever-present stripes. Each day I've seen this guy (which has been on average twice a week for about two months) he's had on at least one piece of clothing with vertical or horizontal stripes. Every day. Most people don't even own a single striped shirt, let alone the array of striped accessories this guy seems to have stashed away in his wardrobe. In fact, I know of only one store that actually sells stripes on a regular basis… Really gets you wondering where on earth this guy shops.
While on the topic of his get-up, I should mention the goggles. Yes, that's right, goggles. They're not glasses, they're not "shades", they're not "spectacles"; they are goggles. And oh, no, not regular swimming goggles; these things are full-on rave gear. And, you see, the thing about rave goggles is that they're meant to be worn at a rave. Panache every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon between the hours of one and four pm is most certainly not a rave. So, what is this guy doing with the orange-lensed, white framed eyewear? I have no idea, but I intend to find out.
On a few occasions, such as today, I arrive at Panache before him. Now, I come here for the wifi. This guy, however, seems to move with a purpose over to that same table every day, where he proceeds to lift the (rave) goggles from his eyes (they find purchase around his forehead) and set up his laptops. Laptops, as in plural; He has two. I wonder, what does he need two laptops handy at the same time for? I watch as he takes his seat and lowers the goggles around his eyes again. He powers up the laptops and scratches his head simultaneously, in turn ruffling his hair.
Oh, that hair. It's been chemically treated , I can tell from the damage at the roots (Mind you, I'm sitting a good six feet away from him.), but other than that it looks healthy enough. His hair parts (naturally from the looks of it) on a spot off to one side and slightly past the crown of his head. The roots are greasy there, and more of an auburn brown color, which offsets the fire-engine-red dye covering the rest of his slightly shaggy mop. Yes, it's dye, because no one's hair is naturally that bright.
I'll sit here for another few minutes until I peck up the courage to approach him. Then again, just sitting here watching him is potentially creepier than just talking to him…
"Hello," I blurt out, coming to stand next to his table. His fingers stop their frenzied dance across the keyboard. He jabs a finger at a button (presumably the pause switch) and turns slightly to his left to look at me. I smile and ask if I can have a seat next to him. He nods, albeit every slowly. (I really hope he hasn't noticed me staring at him for the past few days. That would just make this entire situation ten times as awkward.) I sit down, probably coming off like a complete creep as I whip out my notebook and pen, and smile at him. "My name is (flamablechoklit), it's nice to meet you," I start simply and hold my hand out. (I've found that a firm handshake is a great way to break the ice.) He takes it and shakes.
"Mail," he says with the hint of an accent. And somehow, his voice and name fit him perfectly.
I continue with small talk, telling him I am a student looking for an interesting profile subject (which seems to catch his interest), and eventually ask him for an interview. "It all depends on what you'd be asking me," he says casually, "Would it be about my job or life or what? I mean, I'm just meeting you so this is pretty weird." We both laugh and I have to voice my agreement.
"Yes, yes it is. But I think I have a way with people, you know? Anyway, I just thought you looked like an interesting person to talk to. It can be about whatever you're comfortable telling me." He gives me this lopsided, calm, ever so fitting grin and nods quickly in approval (like a puppy). He copies down his email address in my notebook and scribbles his name in boyish handwriting under it. This earns him a quizzical look from me. "I'm not sure how to pronounce that," I admit while squinting at his writing.
"Mail is pronounced like the distance increment," he tells me understandingly, "and my last name, Jeevas, is said like 'geev-us'. It's Polish." Again, it just seems to fit him perfectly. (It also explains the accent and perhaps even the odd attire.) After the interview is scheduled we talk for a few more minutes before I leave. "Come up with some good questions for me," he calls as I pack up, "Nothing boring!"
The scheduled date finds me sitting at Panache, ready and waiting with my pen, notebook and stick-recorder, hoping that Mail didn't decide to bail out on me. Alas, he walks in just as the clock strikes four pm, but there's something off about him today… He doesn't have his laptops!
"Hey," I greet him as he sits down opposite me, "you didn't bring your stuff?"
"Well I didn't think it'd be polite to work while you're trying to talk to me," he reasons. Touché.
"Oh, those are for work? Well then that'll be my first question; Mister Mail Jeevas, what do you do for a living?"
"I'm a part time student at Bloomsburg University, major in computer programming, but I have an internship with Sony so I get shipped all over the place. S'long as it doesn't interfere with school it's not an issue; they pay for almost everything." I feel my eyebrows lift of their own accord in amazement.
"Sony? As in Playstation?"
"That's the one. I'm hoping to beta for them soon."
"You do realize how completely awesome that is, right?" He does what I have now deemed the 'puppy-nod' again. Good, I'm glad he realizes how totally cool his job is.
After some quick video game banter I finally ask the question I've been wondering about since I first saw his weird wardrobe. "Alright, I'm sure you get this a lot, but I have to ask. What's up with the goggles?"
"You're actually the first to ask me that," he says sitting back in his chair, "I'm pretty sure most people just think I'm weird and leave it at that." I point out that most people don't wear goggles on a daily basis. He chuckles. "Yea I suppose, but I'm actually extremely photosensitive. And they reduce the glare on computer and television screens," he explains. Everything is starting to make so much sense now, it's crazy. In hopes of shedding more light on his choice of clothing, I ask him about his stripe obsession (not using those words, mind you). "Ah, yea, now that one I get a lot," he sighs amusedly and continues, "Honestly, I have no idea. I'm just drawn to stripes. My roommate has a better sense of style though, so I let him pick out my more formal stuff, but the stripes are kind of a signature thing for me. Weird, right?" Definitely, Mail, but I can relate.
I've been glancing up at his hair every few minutes, none too subtly it seems, because eventually he says good-naturedly, "And no, it's not natural."
Sensing to avoid the subject of his birth country, I move on to his current schooling. "Well I already told you I'm majoring in computer programming. I live on campus eight months out of the year and go where ever Sony wants me the other four. My roommate is a PA native so he's in that area most of the time."
"What's your roommate like?"
"Obnoxious. Rude. Overbearing… My best friend," he offers with that same lopsided grin. Now that was just adorable. "He's majoring in business law. They stuck him in my building by mistake freshman year and we just never got around to correcting it."
"Well that worked out well for the two of you." (I get the feeling this 'best friend' might be something more but I don't push the topic. I know my boundaries.) We chat about friends, school, the weather, pretty much everything. Then I catch sight of the time and remember my entire reason for talking to him in the first place (you know, other than the fact that he's one of the coolest people I've ever met); We've been here nearly two hours already.
"So to wrap things up—"
"In a striped ribbon?" I snort loudly at this, disturbing our fellow costumers. He laughs too.
"In closing," I start again giving him a mock stern look, "Why is it, Mail, that you come to Panache?" I glance at the recorder to make sure it's on, pen in hand and ready to quote.
"For the wifi," he says lamely. I give him a look. He is amused. "Hm, not climactic enough for you?"
"No."
AN: See??? Wasn't that beleivable??? I think it was, and evidently so did my instructor. HAH! Review loves.
"Why didn't we just tell him the truth?"
"BECAUSE LYING IS FUN!"
-YGOTAS
