So I walked into the elevator the other week, and there was this guy who was obsessively checking himself out in the mirror, not like in an arrogant way, but just in way to make sure he looked presentable. He kept fixing his hair, patting down his shirt, straightening his belt - almost as if he was inadequate for whatever thing he had prepared for. Either way, the end message was clear: He had to look his best.
I said something to him along the lines of, “Hey man, don’t worry. You look good.”
I said something to him along the lines of, “Hey man, don’t worry. You look good.”
He smiled at me, then pointed back and forth between his shirt and his shorts. Red and green, respectively.
“Portugal,” he said.
“Oh they’re playing today?” I asked.
“Against the USA."
“Oh, I’m American.”
We stood there in a moment of silence, slowly realizing that we were enemies for the day. Then we shared a hearty laugh about it as we descended down five floors. I don’t really care too much about football, so I wished him good luck as he walked out. He didn’t say anything in return.
Haha.
Haha.
I guess despite all the heinous shit that has happened for the World Cup, there are still moments where it redeems itself.
No comments:
Post a Comment