Carpaccio

03/2006

I was hiking up Keller Road in heels – carrying a silver shopping bag (full of camisoles). He pulled over and motioned for me to get in. With two uphill blocks to go and the snow falling hard, I was being foolish. He knew it. I knew it. But my instincts were right. He was a nice guy giving a nice girl a lift in a town where, if you don’t ride the lift, you’re not doin’ it right.

Mr. Subaru. I thin-sliced him.

If you’ve read Malcom Gladwell’s “Blink” you know what I’m talking about. Gladwell calls it “thin-slicing” and, while I don’t find the term remotely romantic, it’s the first step in every affair – we all do it. It’s a wonder any of us survive sixty seconds worth of courtship. We make thousands of observations, judgements, slices, within the first milliseconds of meeting anyone new.

Mr. Subaru. He drives a 2005 blue Forester 2.5 XT Limited. He is handsome with dark hair. Member of Netflix. Self-employed. He shops at Safeway; speaks Italian. He drinks Foster’s beer and he uses a post office box. I learned all this without words.

He said he was from San Francisco. I said I was from Florida. I got out of the car and thanked him. A girl like me can only cover so much territory in two blocks.

Later that week, he saw me sitting with my sushi at the Naked Fish. He walked up and said some nice things – a whole lot more than two blocks worth. I smiled and thanked him. Again. Turns out, we have more in common than Netflix.

Mr. Subaru. Nice guy. He never found out what was in my shopping bag. And I sure don’t know what’s in his envelopes, but I’d bet money it’s something good.