Strange Conversations

I had two strange conversations last night.

First I crossed Santa Monica Boulevard and noticed that a woman who was in the process of closing up a flower shop was talking to me. I said, “What?” She said, “You should be careful. They’ll give you a ticket for that.” I was baffled. I said, “For what?” She said, “For crossing against the red light.” I said, “I don’t think I did that.” She said, “That’s a $35 ticket.” I said, “I’m really quite sure I didn’t do that.” She said, “These people, they’ll run you right over. And you’re so young. Much too young to die. What are you … 18? 17?” Me: “Um, not really … goodbye.”

Then when I was over at the 3rd Street Promenade a woman approached me and said, “Are you new to the area?” I said, “Um … not really.” She said, “Do you know anywhere cheap to stay around here?” I said, “Well, there’s a hostel around the corner there.” She said, “How much is it?” I said, “I think about 40 or 50 dollars.” She said, “That much? That’s really expensive.” I said, “Yeah, I guess.” She said, “I was supposed to stay in Santa Barbara tonight but I reneged it, and now it’s getting dark and I don’t have anyplace to stay, and it’s cold — does it seem cold to you?” Me: “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty cold.” Her: “So you have an apartment around here?” I didn’t really like where this conversation was headed, and I tried to come up with an answer that involved neither lying nor admitting that I have an apartment, but I couldn’t think of one, so I said, “Um … yeah.” She waited expectantly. I said, “So, yeah, about that hostel, it’s right around the corner there. Good luck! Bye!”

That reminds me of another strange conversation I had that involves my current apartment. Before I moved in, my new roommate told me to mail my first month’s rent and security deposit to the landlord, which I did. So I get an irate call from this guy. It turns out that my roommate had neglected to inform him that she was moving in a new tenant. He said, “So who are you? Somebody she met on craigslist I bet,” his tone indicating that craigslist is an unparalleled cesspool of deviance and depravity. I charmingly explained that actually I know her through grad school. He calmed down a bit. He said, “You sound all right. You understand why I’m upset though. I mean, you could be some vagrant she picked up on Venice Beach.” I said, “Um … I’m not.” (I fought down the overwhelming temptation to jokingly add, “She picked me up on Santa Monica beach. We don’t associate with those Venice Beach types.”) He said, “I mean, for all I know you could be moving into my building to sell drugs — you could have a … a brick of ‘marijuana,’ or whatever they’re calling it these days.” Me: “Yeah, wow, I’m sure I wouldn’t have any idea.” Anyway, it all worked out in the end.