say it with me, sat-chel

The other day I had a few items to deliver to the post office. Feeling carrying them in my hands would be awkward, I chose what was to reveal itself as an even more awkward method. What it really is, is a bag. I call it my satchel. It's been called worse. It's camoflauge and sports a patch bearing a pair of tenis shoes. As well, there are punk rock pins affixed to the strap. No one's gone as far as to call the pins brooches, but some ask, what's with the man-purse?

I set off on my errands. Most days begin with the taking of coffee. Today, I'd give my trusty Mr. Coffee a break, and go to the only café in the town's radius that allows smoking. I'm told the place is actually a social club, and has dodged smoking referendums by assuming this classification. It cost me a dollar to join the club, and I haven't been spammed yet, in any way. There was a new waitress working there that day.

I swung my satchel, as I insist, into the booth and took a seat. The waitress seemed friendly. So, I got into a conversation with the waitress, about places I could break into the music scene. Well, she said, there is the Glass Hat. What an interesting name. I reached for my satchel, wherein was a pen and notebook, and jotted down The Glass Hat. I imbibed my coffee, and set out for the post office, I was halfway there.

Now, satchels can be worn a number of ways. My satchel has a long strap. The strap can be placed to cross the chest, done by some to thwart muggers. And, I realize this is the suggested configuration for women in larger cities, when speaking of a purse. Which, my bag is not, I repeat. My satchel may be worn over one shoulder, or, get this, it may be carried like a briefcase by the short cloth handle affixed to the top of it. Purses have chambers. My bag has zippered compartments, not unlike a backpack.

I arrived at the post office, posted my mail, and slung my satchel over one shoulder, ready to leave. Well, I saw a friend of mine from Jr. High addressing an envelope on one of the tables. I stepped over to him and said what's up. Back in Jr. High the two of us were in track and field together. I recalled that he was the one laughing hysterically at me after a short sprint I made. Now, to defend myself ahead of time, I primarily ran the 110 low hurdles as an event. And, I could beat somewhere just under half the competitors, not by raw speed, but agility. Runners would be falling down in the lanes beside me, but I lept on. But, at one practice this friend took good note of how I mistakenly ran a sprint against all of the girls on the team... and lost to all of them. Jr. High is far past, what is new, my friend? We chatted, and I mentioned that I'd started a music thing on the side, and that someone had suggested a venue. He asked which one, for he was a bartender at a martini bar. I replied, the Glass Hat. He turned red, the Glass Hat is a gay bar!

Now, I'd have no problem playing music at a gay bar, much less entering one with a close friend. But, I did hit on that waitress the next time I came into the social club. The news of the orientation of the Glass Hat tavern was a bit numbing, but I threw one rubbery leg after another out of the post office. I came to an intersection where two girls were parked in their car. By now I had made the connection between my bag and the waitress's suggestion, and was made a little conscious. I'd expected the girls to point and call at me. No, they were chatting to one another, and I don't know if they made note of me. But surely they saw me. What happened as I passed closer to the car, was that the girl in the passenger seat began fluffing her hair as they do, in the mirror. Now, I'm sure I've seen girls do this before, but was it on t.v.? It seemed, in my stress over my toting preference, maybe I was just like one of the girls. There is always attraction level to consider, and I beg to be modest. However, could've the assumption been made either consciously or subconsciously?

The next episode in the man-purse chronicles occurred on my way home, at a gas station. A young man and I came to the entrance at exactly the same time. He may have noticed the purse__no! I mean, he may have noticed my satchel. I was still conscious of assumptions about it. So, I insisted he go first, and to top it, I held the door as he entered. I caught a sideways glance as I was walking to the cashier, but perhaps it was suggestion. I purchased my diet berries and cream Dr. Pepper, and left.