Category: convos with strangers

convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #111

abby mumford

2.18.15, in very long line at CVS

man: *holds up card* women are so wordy. we men need few words. we’re simple.

me: yes, you can really see the difference in the “for him” “for her” sections.

a couple walks in. husband: let’s go. i’m not waiting in that line.

wife: you need your prescription. get in line.

husband: *gets in line*

man: *shakes head* *laughs*

wife: i guess i was a bit bossy, huh?

man (to the wife): i’m just having flashbacks.
(to me): i told you we’re simple creatures. she says do this and men are like *nods head*.

me: *chuckles*

man: i’ve got a wife and 2 daughters at home.

me: so you’re well trained then.

oh the people you meet and lessons you learn while running errands!

convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #110

abby mumford

*author’s note: you may have noticed my last posted conversation with strangers is #63. self, you say, how did we go from #63 to #110? and i’d respond, i’ve got them all locked and loaded in a word document that may or may not (probably not) see the light of day. i don’t have time to post them all, but i wanted to resume this series, so i’m starting here in 2015…*

1.3.15 (at philadelphia airport)

security guard: miss mumford, hello. hey, do you happen to know the singer of this song?

me: no, i’m afraid i don’t.

SG: i thought you were too young to know. it’s karen carpenter.

me: oh! she has a lovely christmas album. my parents are big fans of hers.

SG: yes, that is a nice album. it’s a shame she died so young and of anoxeria.

me: very tragic.

as we smiled goodbye and i removed my coat, shoes, sweater, bracelet, etc. etc., i pondered the ways in which music touches us all.

the next security guard was also all about the conversations.

him: you have your big winter coat, i see.

me: yup. and i have another one in my checked bag.

him: so you’re from boston. okay, explain something to me.

me: *pulls on boots* okay.

him: they said the snow wouldn’t accumulate more than an inch an hour.

me: and how long is the storm supposed to last?

him: 7 hours.

me: so boston won’t get more than 7 inches.

him: why don’t they just say “a dusting” then?

me: because 7 total inches isn’t a dusting. it’s a fair amount. it’s just not a nor’easter or a blizzard.

with my knowledge dispensed and my shoes, watch, bracelet, sweater, scarf, and coat back on, i wished him a happy trip to boston since he’s got a ski trip scheduled for next week. who knew airports were so educational as well as functional?

convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #63

abby mumford

strangers? here’s why i’m talking to them.

the final score (6-1) wasn’t a true indicator of the game. they were the defending league champions not to mention they’ve made it to the finals the last 3 years. we’ve squeaked into the playoffs each of those years.

and yet. we high fived after the game, as we do.

there’s never a smooth transition from the orderly line of high fives and “good games” to two teams walking back to their benches. in the middle of the mob, the girl with the hot pink spandex capri pants i’d been wishing i owned the entire game pulled me aside.

her: i wanted to let you know you had a really good hit.

me: oh, thank you!

her: it was very solid.

me: and i wanted to let you know i adore your pants.

her: thanks! they’re from tj maxx. $20.

me: i love them even more now!

our laughter sparkled into the setting sun, highlighting both our sportsmanship and wo-manship.

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convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #62

abby mumford

strangers? yup, i talk to them. here’s why.

it had been a busy day full of glorious weather and workouts and errands and me, just me. it was a quiet day. i only talked to six total people, but for once, i was okay with that. i needed to recharge my batteries.

having completed my TO DO list, i was headed back to my apartment and i had no plans to leave it once i’d entered. maybe it was the impending solitude. maybe it was her fashion sense, but as the girl walked towards me, i spoke up.

me: i like your dress.

her: *looks up from typing on phone* *is startled* thank you!

i wasn’t sure if she was headed to meet friends, meet a boyfriend or a girlfriend, or perhaps a first date, but the dress was darling and i wanted to pass along some of the sunshine i was feeling. i liked to think she walked a bit brighter to her destination.

i know i did.

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convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #61

abby mumford

strangers? yup, i talk to them. here’s why.

after much discussion about cookie cakes, R and i decided the next things on our agenda were (a) a chocolate chip cookie and (b) a glass of red wine. we stopped by two places whose dark windows reflected our rather large pouts.

point A might have been off the menu, but we could still conquer point B. we ended up at our favorite bar where two seats were waiting patiently. obviously, we were meant to be there.

R to bartender: i’d like a glass of this red wine *points to menu* and a dessert menu.

me to bartender: i’d like a glass of this red wine *points to menu*

i may not be the bravest when it comes to trying new food, but when compared to dear R, i’m basically lewis and clark. i’ve conquered the food frontier. all this is to say, the desserts listed had rather fancy descriptions that slightly terrified us. we settled on the one with “chocolate” in the name. it was no chocolate chip cookie, but we made the right decision.

we dined in style, chatted merrily, watched the crowds, sipped our nightcaps and patted ourselves on the back for a successful wednesday evening.

R to bartender: i think we’ll close out now.

bartender: *punches buttons* okay, you’re all set.

we stared at the bartender who crumpled up the receipt and tossed it in the trash. we looked at each other. we eyed the bartender who smiled and nodded. our eyes grew wide. our smiles grew wider. with those four little words, our status as regulars were cemented.

yes, we left a large tip.

yes, we high fived once we were out of eye sight of the bartender.

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