There was a guy at the climbing gym today who kept jumping off the wall, as if he suddenly remembered he forgot to pick up his dry cleaning. He would climb past the hard part, seemingly home-free, and then leap off and walk away. One second he was present, the next he was miles away. Every now and then, this guy would look at his iPod, mutter to himself, and continue to climb. It was so bizarre.The following interaction was purely visual. No words were exchanged.
Guy:
PinchPinchanotherPinch!NowfootonorangeblobAndgrabthatbluething — Oh? What? Yeah, maybe I will have a drink of water from that fountain over there after all.Me:
Hello, guy. Where do you keep going? Are you talking to me? Did you say... finances? Oh. No, you're in a conference call. It sounded like you were talking to me while you were doing pull ups on the crux of my project.Not crazy, I guess, but definitely a whole new meaning to the words "professional climber".
Then there was the girl fidgeting with her harness near the lockers. That "trouble" song was on the radio, which I always take time to acknowledge because it is so good. I was writing this interaction down in my notebook and putting on my shoes when I felt her blinding sunbeam eyes on the side of my face. They burned, then they shifted just as quickly as they burned, existing as a momentary weapon. I looked up to see her laughing out loud at me, though deliberately avoiding eye contact. It was so strange I found myself at a loss for words.
I live on the moon. I must be living on the moon, I thought. At least they have Taylor Swift on the moon.
Ohmygod I'm a gym rat. The snow cannot melt fast enough.
Riley.
