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The Journal of Literary Satire | Hastily Written & Slopilly Edited
Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Non-Celebrity Gawker Stalker

by Teddy Wayne

Saw Erica Richards, paralegal I went out on two dates with three years ago, outside Film Forum screening of “Tsotsi” on Sunday afternoon with scruffy Strokes-ish guy who looked like maybe her boyfriend. She was white-hot in a skimpy tank top, can’t believe I dropped the ball on that one. I wonder if she’s in law school now. Ducked behind bus shelter until they went inside.

Mrs. Strathern, my kind-hearted tenth-grade English teacher, in Columbus Circle Whole Foods on Wednesday night, squeezing avocados while a little kid sat in her cart (her son?). Said hello to her, she remembered me (or pretended to) and was totally nice. Doesn’t look like she has to dye her hair yet.

Friend of a friend Peter Polish-sounding last name in line at a Midtown bodega on lunch break Thursday. He accidentally skipped me and then was really apologetic. I was careful not to gush, and reminded him we’d met at a Christmas party two years ago. Shorter than I remembered, disheveled in a nerdy-cute way, wore a Hanes undershirt, toned forearms. Will have to ask Joanna if he’s single. He had a Vitamin Water, but the line was taking so long he put it back.

Late dinner at the Tribeca location Burritoville on Friday, and who do I see coming in but Chris from the Chelsea Radio Shack who sold me my Verizon cell phone last week, avec entourage? We didn’t say anything, but made eye contact several times of the “that’s-right-you-know-who-I-am” variety. He ordered the Holy Mole Burrito and took about eight basketfuls of the free chips, but no salsa—weird. Saw him cozying up in the booth next to flaxen-haired Janine, who convinced me to spring for the two-year extended-warranty—anyone know if they’re an item these days?

Going down in my office elevator after work on Tuesday, OMIGOD MY NEW WORK CRUSH, the perky brunette who works in Accounting. Got tongue-tied and stupidly asked if she wanted me to press “Lobby” for her. Descended in pin-drop silence as I stared down at her sensible shoes. When the doors opened I mumbled “Have a good night,” and she flashed me the most heart-melting smile I’ve seen this side of Melissa from International Sales. A co-worker in the lobby said “Hi, Jackie,” as she passed, I went back upstairs and reviewed the employee roster, found out her last name, and spent the entire night Googling her.

Saturday night, coming home blitzed from the corner bar, saw the neighborhood homeless guy outside my apartment urinating on the stoop, I think spelling out his name (Jon?). Slipped him two singles to stay away for two nights. Gave me an eerie, thousand-yard stare. Killer hazel, bloodshot eyes.

Teddy Wayne is a writer living in Manhattan. His work has also recently been published in McSweeney's and Time magazine. He runs a 4.3 40 and was a Southwest Conference First-Team selection at cornerback.