Page 20 of Flirtasaurus
“You should know, Alf”—I say his name with no small amount of disdain—“that taxidermy really gets me down. It actually gets me way the hell down, but still, I waited there for you for a full thirty minutes because I stupidly thought we had a connection. Sure, I get how the Hall of Mammals is a great way to show children animals up close and personal, but come on! Taking fierce yet helpless creatures from their natural habitats, euthanizing them, then stuffing them full of whatever taxidermists stuff them full of just so we can ooh and aah at them for all eternity? I mean, what kind of monsters are we?”
“Listen, I have a cue coming up in a moment, and I kind of need to focus, so maybe we could—”
“I kept asking myself that question as I stared into the artificial marble eyes of that baby deer from the 1960s, patiently waiting for unworthy you. What kind of monsters are we? That baby deer was cut off in her prime! And during the 1960s of all decades! She could have been marching for women’s rights on Washington! Reading ‘The Feminine Mystique’ beside a babbling brook! Exploring her sexual liberation at Woodstock! But no. Instead, over a half-century later, here she is propped and posed behind a pane of glass in a Philadelphia museum, dead-eyed and frozen while grade-schoolers gawk. Well, fuck that.”
“Alright, you gotta stop. Is there security anywhere?”
“But you did say you were a Disney fan, though, yeah? So, what do I know? Maybe Bambi and her murdered mommy are your jam. Bullet dodged, I guess. Bullet dodged for me, that is. As we all know, Bambi’s mother wasn’t so lucky.”
His face softens at that moment as he seems to register who I am. It is also then that I realize I can hear my own voice in surround sound.
Oh. Sweet. Geezus.
I drop my volume considerably. “OhmyGod am I…? Can they all…?”
He tips forward at the waist and speaks directly into the microphone. The clearly live microphone.
“Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen, it seems we’re having some technical difficulties. We’ll resume in just a moment. Thank you for your patience.”
He switches the images above to a swirling screen saver of sorts and slaps on some plinky-plunky space music, then finally clicks the off switch on the microphone.
“Ya done?” he asks me. And not too kindly, I might add.
How in the world does he get off being exasperated with me?
“Why the hell didn’t you turn off the microphone minutes ago?” I ask. A completely logical question, if you ask me.
“Hm. Yeah, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Alright now, you don’t have to be snarky with me.”
“Oh, don’t I? If you must know, elevator girl… That’s who you are, right? The girl from the elevator?”
“I prefer elevatorwoman, but yes, that would be me. Hello again.”
“Hello.” He looks like he wants to say something else for a moment, but apparently decides to continue being a punk instead. “I didn’t ‘turn off the microphone minutes ago’ because I’m new to this position and still learning the ropes.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. This was my trial run, and I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but… it’s not going very well. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“I dunno, I thought you sounded great.” I deliver the compliment as though it’s an insult, but it’s a compliment all the same.
“You did?” He drops the snark again and looks at me as if he’s craving some actual feedback. This allows me the opportunity to take in his face for the first time. Eyes that are sort of green, but also sort of blue. What would you call them? Cerulean? No, cyan. Right? I’m not sure what to call them other than… captivating. His hair is super dark brown. A bit wavy and shaggy. I like how relaxed it makes him look. And his lips? Geez, his lips are like two inviting sex pillows that –
My point is… damn, he’s pretty.
No, he’s downright beautiful.
Feedback. He’s requested feedback.
“I mean, there are some definite content issues you’ll want to address before your next showing, including, but not limited to, your use of the idiom tout suite, the overall way you seem to delight in the decimation of the dinosaurs…”
“Wait. Are you critiquing me right now?”
“Well, yeah. You asked me for feedback.”
“No, actually. I did not ask for feedback.”
