Are You There, David Lynch? It's Me, Gay Guy.

Straight Guy,

I had the oddest day yesterday. Cosmic odd. A day of such freakish symmetry that it could prove that God exists. Or that I am in a David Lynch movie. Or that David Lynch is God.

Act One:
I was taking money from the ATM and talked with a young guy. He's just arrived from Belgium, he told me. My bank's ATM doesn't accept his card. I pointed him to the monster Bank of America across the street, which, since it's a national bank, had a better chance of accepting a foreign bank card. He launched into a long conversation with lots of eye contact and what seemed like flirting with me. Emphasis on seemed like flirting; you can never tell with European men. I think he was just lonely, a stranger in a strange city. If I were a nicer person, I would have chatted longer, but I really had to extricate myself to get on with my errands.

Act Two:
In the evening, I had to staff a work event. I headed out in my black suit. Part way to my destination, a Hasidic Jewish man stopped and asked me, "Are you Jewish." I rather liked being flagged down by a stranger to be asked if I am Jewish. Only because it seems so much more interesting than being asked, "Are you a Methodist?"

I'm not verbally so good on my feet. He asked me, "Are you Jewish?" and I replied, "No. . . but thank you." Which is pretty much my answer when people in the grocery store ask me if I want to try a sample or in the department store when someone in cosmetics tries to douse me in cologne.

He explained to me that they needed a tenth Jewish man to form the minyan required for certain Jewish services and obligations. He was just taking a chance on me. I think it was my black suit.

(Reverse to) Act One and a Half:
Just down the block from the Jewish man, I run into the Belgian. He thanks me for the directions to the bank and then starts to tell me about his day. By now, I'm rushing to make it to the event on time, so I had to cut him off. Like I said, I think he's lonely. He gave me his card. Now I have to figure out what to do with it.

In the last block before the location of the event, I saw another Hasidic Jewish man. I figured he was the tenth man, but I didn't stop to ask.

This would all make sense if I lived in a small town, but I live in the heart of a city.

Act Three:
I hadn't talked in ages with the colleague who also staffed the event, so we had a lot of catching up to to do. He asked me if I still had any contact with a guy I had dated a while ago. The relationship ended because the guy just disappeared, which was very painful. I remember, SG, when I was trying to figure out what was going on with him, you said: "He's just not into you." You weren't being (all that) mean. You were referring to a book that attempts to help women face the facts and understand how men behave when they don't want to go any further. I don't know if you were telling me to read it, but you made your point clear. I was pretty surprised you knew that the book existed. It's written for women, but the advice works for gay men, too.

I arrived home thinking about how tough it is to get rejected. In the lobby of my building we have a bench that acts like a swap site. People leave books or other treasures for other residents to take. What book should be there for the taking. You guessed it: "He's Just Not Into You."

Freaky, right?

Are you there, David Lynch? It's me, Gay Guy.

--Gay Guy