I would see him every Tuesday night. 7pm. At the petrol station.
As I filled up my car on the way home from work.
He would recognise my car as I drove in. He’d always walk over.
“Hello again.” he’d say with a smile.
Then offer to check my oil, or clean my windows.
“I don’t think they pay you enough to do this” I’d laugh.
He always had messy, curly blonde hair. And day old stubble.
He wasn’t amazingly handsome. Nor did he send me into a flurry of sweaty, speechless excitement.
In most cases I wouldn’t have looked twice.
But his name was Sterling.
Engraved into his white plastic name badge.
I was dazzled and intrigued.
I would imagine him as a pillar of silver. His body muscular and glowing with a heroic halo of white. Little angels perched nearby, with divine powers ready to defend and protect him. Or me.
I was swept away into a land of gods and kings, of damsels and knights in shining armour. I stood transfixed, staring as he glowed with magnetism and enchanted charm.
On a number of occasions, he had to wake me up with a wave of his hand and a “Hello? Miss?”
I was so uncool. How’s a smart girl like me supposed to maintain some form of dignity if she gets swept off her feet by a guy’s NAME?
And really, what will happen to all the John’s and Joe’s of this world?
I was going through the archives of my old site, and found a heaps of entertaining posts. I thought I’d re-edit and re-post some of them, just for the fun of it. The above post was written in May 2000. Enjoy.