Twisting My Words
So it's no secret that I enjoy crossword puzzles to an almost psychotic extent. Hey, everyone has something, and mine might prevent early-onset Alzheimer's. Nothing wrong with that.
In addition to being my entire preventative health program, there's also something about the crossword that is very attractive to my personality. It's a blank space that you have to fill. It has definite right and wrong answers. It gets harder as the week goes on. Oh, and it's both social and anti-social at the same time. Even though it's an entirely introspective activity, people will always approach you to talk about the puzzle. Sometimes, that's not what you're looking for, but usually it's okay.
Being a creature of habit, I'll eat at the same few places and do the LA Times puzzle. Everybody who works at these places will see me do the puzzle. They ask how I can finish the puzzle, and at some point I just became "the guy who always does the puzzle." That's me.
There are worse things to be known for. I could be "the guy with the awful breath" or "the guy who wears shirts that are way too small." Instead, there are the puzzles.
A couple of weeks ago, I had dinner at a place I don't go to very often. It was extremely late, about one in the morning, and I hadn't done the puzzle yet that day. So I bought a paper, sat at the counter, and went to work.
And that's when a waitress from one of my regular places came in. She said hello, she went to sit down. She looked at me funny for a second, though, on her way to her table. A second later, I figured it out. The puzzle.
There's only one thing she ever sees me doing, then she sees me in another context for the first time and I'm doing the same goddamned thing. She must figure that I am absolutely autistic. Instead of being "the guy who always does the puzzle," I'm "the guy who ALWAYS does the puzzle." I have absolutely nothing else in my life.
I'm like the Russell Crowe character in "A Beautiful Mind," except at least he got to think he was a spy. That would be cool. Also, since he was written by Akiva Goldsman, you knew exactly how his story would end ten minutes into the movie. I'll never have a clue about mine.
Anyway, it's not a deal. Hardly even think about it.
Shit.
In addition to being my entire preventative health program, there's also something about the crossword that is very attractive to my personality. It's a blank space that you have to fill. It has definite right and wrong answers. It gets harder as the week goes on. Oh, and it's both social and anti-social at the same time. Even though it's an entirely introspective activity, people will always approach you to talk about the puzzle. Sometimes, that's not what you're looking for, but usually it's okay.
Being a creature of habit, I'll eat at the same few places and do the LA Times puzzle. Everybody who works at these places will see me do the puzzle. They ask how I can finish the puzzle, and at some point I just became "the guy who always does the puzzle." That's me.
There are worse things to be known for. I could be "the guy with the awful breath" or "the guy who wears shirts that are way too small." Instead, there are the puzzles.
A couple of weeks ago, I had dinner at a place I don't go to very often. It was extremely late, about one in the morning, and I hadn't done the puzzle yet that day. So I bought a paper, sat at the counter, and went to work.
And that's when a waitress from one of my regular places came in. She said hello, she went to sit down. She looked at me funny for a second, though, on her way to her table. A second later, I figured it out. The puzzle.
There's only one thing she ever sees me doing, then she sees me in another context for the first time and I'm doing the same goddamned thing. She must figure that I am absolutely autistic. Instead of being "the guy who always does the puzzle," I'm "the guy who ALWAYS does the puzzle." I have absolutely nothing else in my life.
I'm like the Russell Crowe character in "A Beautiful Mind," except at least he got to think he was a spy. That would be cool. Also, since he was written by Akiva Goldsman, you knew exactly how his story would end ten minutes into the movie. I'll never have a clue about mine.
Anyway, it's not a deal. Hardly even think about it.
Shit.
posted by Matthew at 11:51 PM
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