Page 10 of Space Junk: Houston, We Have a Hottie
I’m currently caressing a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots with dark brown leather uppers. They are beyond amazing. Like Crocodile-Dundee-meets-badass-cowgirl amazing. Paul Hogan is on my celebrity list. But you know, ayoungPaul Hogan.
“Yes, that,” Trish says, hands on her hips.
I squat down, searching the shelf for my size. As usual, a hopeless endeavor. I straighten in defeat and put the shoe back on its perch.
Trish gestures to my whole person and continues, “You come in, cute as can be, order a Coke in a bar, talk about ‘Operation Social Life,’ and the next thing I know I’m helping you pour a drunk blonde into the back of your clunker.” She settles her hands back on her hips. “What gives?”
“Cute? Uh, did you not see my Chucks and T-shirt?” I look down at myself and realize I’m basically in the same thing today, only my T-shirt is of the periodic table. Hmmm… New clothes might have to be added to Operation Social Life’s agenda.
Trish shakes her head. “Not everyone in Texas needs boots and big hair.” She stares pointedly at my ponytail. “Though I have a feeling if you let that loose, you might be one step closer to country.”
I like Trish. She’s just as cool now as she was in Big Texas, so that allays my fears that she’d just been working a big tip. There is also something refreshing talking to someone outside the NASA world.
“My work is kind of demanding...” I stop, the usual excuse falling short. “Actually, it’s more like Imakemy work so demanding.”
“Well, you work at NASA. That’s a bit more demanding than hustling drink orders.”
“I’m sure waitressing is hard work,” I say quickly, turning red again.
“Relax, sweetie. Cocktail waitressing and bartending suit my life. I’m quite happy.” She pats my shoulder before turning to the boot racks. “I’m just saying that NASA requires a bit more dedication, I’m sure.”
I shrug. “It does, I guess. But I… well, I’ve come to realize that my lack of social skills may be negatively affecting my professional trajectory.”
Trish pauses in reaching for a pair of super high heeled, red leather boots with fringe on the sides. “Say again?”
“Um, I need a life outside of work?”
She nods, dark hair waving. “That, I get.” She kicks off her shoes and slides into the red boots. They looked ridiculous on the shelf, so I’m immediately jealous when she stands up, gives them a test walk and looks implausibly amazing in them.
“But I thought you were friends with Julie Starr? Or do you just hang out at work?” In these boots, her eyes are on the same level as mine.
“I am and not exactly. She’s really cool, but super busy. You know, either in space or doing some sort of PR travel to DC. And it isn’t that I don’t like the rest of my co-workers, I’m just sort of…”
“Shy?”
“Well, I was going to say an extreme introvert with no social skills, but we’ll go with shy.”
Trish laughs.
“And even the ones I do talk to, it’s all me explaining the proportionate weight ratio needed to achieve optimum minimal buoyancy force. Or the negative side effects of drag time in water as opposed to the zero G of space.”
Trish replaces the red boots with her own and I can see clear over the top of her head again. “You’re like a genius or something, aren’t you?”
My ponytail falls over my shoulder when I look down at my feet. I don’t like talking about being smart. I mean, I’m not stupid, obviously, but when people hear about my degrees and what I’ve done they tend to think of me differently. Been there, done that, got the heartbreak to prove it.
“Anyway,” I say, waving her question away with my hand, “I thought, as an experiment, I’d change my natural environment to see if such a simple change would be enough of a catalyst to spark a reaction. Kind of ‘Big Bang’ my own social life, if you will.”
“Big Bang?”
“Yeah, the Big Bang, the more commonly accepted scientific explanation of the birth of our universe. The singular explosion that acted as the catalyst in the universe’s creation.”
“Ah,thatBig Bang,” Trish drawls.
I can’t tell if she’s messing with me or not.
“Yeah, that one. Then I made the mistake of telling Jules about my social experiment.” I pick up a pair of all-black boots. Even the stitching is black. Very Johnny Cash.
“Why was that a mistake?”
