I saw you sitting in the corner at Alchemy Coffee (390 E. 1700 South) reading “I Saw You” in the City Weekly. I don’t know what you were thinking. Maybe you were hoping to be seen? Well, it worked. I saw you. Did you see me? I’ll look online to see if you placed an ad saying you saw me. If so, I wonder what you would write.
Maybe you’d say, “I saw you at the counter at Alchemy Coffee. I saw you ordered your coffee like you like your women. You have to have it first thing in the morning. Next time, Adonis, drink me up.” In reality, the ad probably would read, “I saw you. Quit staring at me.”
Lately, I’ve been going online and reading the “I Saw You” section at SLWeekly.com. So far, no one has written, “I saw you leaving Costco with a four-month supply of Rogaine in one hand and 37 rolls of toilet paper in the other. I see you like to party. Your minoxidil or mine?” I guess this means I’m flying under the wandering eyes’ radar. But it has made each and every day a continual loop of “I saw you” moments.
Sometimes they happen driving in my car: “I saw you. Your brown eyes had a passion that matched the horsepower of your Volkswagen R32. Do you want to race to the Republican for a Tetley’s? Or do you just want to change lanes?”
Or, ordering a Happy Meal at McDonald’s: “When you said, ‘Have a nice day?’ I saw you had a look that said, ‘I don’t say that to everyone. Can I be your toy?’”
I saw you, Happy Birthday. I saw you with brown boots and long blond hair at the Rose Wagner Center. I should have given you a standing ovation, but you weren’t onstage; you were just sitting in front of me. I didn’t see you at Built to Spill—weird. I saw you; it’s true. I saw you, and it made my day.
When you’re living in an “I Saw You” world, even inanimate objects can be seen and unseen. Like when I walked into the Left Fork Grill (65 W. 3900 South). I saw you, and some would say you are flaky, but that’s how I want you to be. Don’t change. Your shape was perfect. I know I shouldn’t judge by looks alone, but I knew you were meant for me.
This wasn’t the first time I saw you. I had been to the Left Fork Grill the week before, and you were there then, too. You don’t work there, and you aren’t the apple of my eye. You are banana-cream pie.
The first time I saw you, I was there for breakfast and ordered Eggs in a Hole: Two eggs cooked in the hollowed-out center of two pieces of sourdough bread. This breakfast left me no room to have the courage to ask for you. If only my breakfast had just one egg, I know I could have had you. Because, banana-cream pie, when I left the Left Fork, you were still sitting on the shelf—a jilted piece of pie. Did you see me?
Of course, I came back! This time for lunch, and I only ate half of my pulled pork sandwich—OK, three-quarters. I really was trying to save myself for you. When I walked through the door, you were sitting on display giving me your best-wedged, creamy, upturned yellow banana smile. This time, I know you saw me.
Halfway through lunch, my server asked if I wanted pie. I wasn’t a wallflower, and I wasn’t shy. I asked for you, banana-cream pie. A few minutes later, when she returned empty-handed, she must have seen I was crushed. She sat down across from me in the booth and said, “We’re out of banana. My favorite is the blackberry pie.” Yes, the blackberry pie was delicious, but the second runner-up to Miss America still isn’t Miss America.
On the upside, I saw you, Left Fork Grill girl. Do you put a smiley face on everyone’s check?