Part 4

To: GlennTTTT

From: DriveBri

Subject: Re: Re: About me

What a day. Why is it so hard, Glenn? Love, I mean. I wish it were a puzzle that had an answer, like the “Celebrity Scramble” in our pre-show packages. (Kyle wanted to rename it “Cinema Scramble” so we could use movie titles and mix up “Gosford Park” to spell “Porkd for Gas,” which I pointed out would totally undermine our mission to deliver family friendly pre-movie entertainment and advertising. Honestly, I question Kyle’s commitment to the overall mission of Captive Audience Solutions, and worry about his influence on A.J., who is cool but, as I’ve said, is on the fat side and therefore has low esteem and will gravitate toward any strong personality.) But seriously: it’s not fair that even you have had a successful, if failed, marriage, and my most successful relationship was with Cathy, who I knew did not love me, but had fewer choices because she was 6’5”.

Funny thing: both my sounding boards are named Glenn. You, and a therapist I bought named Glen Fiddich.

Dammit, even my jokes aren’t helping.

So this is what happened: I wrote my note to Nicole. I said she smelled like a “pear factory” but you could see that I had crossed out “orchard.” That way she could tell there were levels. After carrying it around for a few days and loitering in the lobby on mornings and lunch times, I finally managed to squeeze onto the same elevator with her.

What kind of God has made me so skinny, Glenn? If I’d been a normal American like you I wouldn’t have been able to squeeze through the door. I’d have taken another elevator and maybe given the note to Nicole some other time. Then I’d be writing you from my post-sex bed while Nicole snoozed, newly under my spell.

But as it was. There she stood at the back of the elevator. Nicole. Kind of pear smelling, although it was a crowded elevator and I was carrying some minestrone from the deli, which had a neutralizing effect on her scent, even though the soup was getting cold because I’d been holding it for twenty minutes, waiting for her. I could feel the note in my pocket; a little crumpled after three days and getting damp from sweat.

I almost didn’t pass it to her. But this was the moment, Glenn, and if the year I spent trying to get really good at Halo taught me anything, it’s that fortune favors the bold. (And that 13-year-olds are the worst people on the planet, hashtag teabagging.) I got out the note, but Nicole was on my soup-hand side, and in trying to transfer the note from one hand to the other, the bag, already weakened from previously splashed minestrone, broke. My life flashed before my eyes — as yours must have, Glenn, right before I saved you.

But there’s no Heimlich for embarrassment. Long story short, she was splashed with minestrone, and my two napkins (how can that place call itself “Superior Deli” if you can’t take as many napkins as you want?) could not make it better. In many movie contexts, this would be considered a “meet cute” and the couple would laugh and shake their heads — his clumsy but sweet advance encourages her to let down her guard and smile and be charmed and won over and, shortly thereafter, bedded. But that’s your world, Glenn: celluloid fantasy. In my world, Nicole got mad and left the elevator before her floor.

You know who thought it was funny? Fucking Kyle. Now he calls me Brian Smooth. And to think I spent all that time mentoring him. I would’ve punched him, no lie, but he has one of those natural swimmer’s physiques, lean and muscular, with long arms and hands like paddles. True, I have been to a Krav Maga class, but today I was a little hypoglycemic from lack of lunch since, of course, I had poured most of it on a girl I was interested in. Also, Krav Maga is a powerful defensive fighting style meant only to be used as a last option, and I take my personal commitment to peace through strength very seriously.

Worst of all, somehow I think I threw my note out with the napkins because when I finally got back to my desk, it was gone. Maybe that’s a blessing.

Anyway, maybe you can use this whole incident in one of your movies. Speaking of you, on the lighter side, you don’t mind if I have a drink with Jane when she blows through town, do you? I’ll give you the lowdown after I see her, I promise. And you can also rest assured because, like I said, love blows. And not in the good way.

— The Bri 
 P.S. Speaking of Cathy, I just Googled her and she’s married! To a former Olympic volleyball player from Israel! How can that giantess be doing so much better I am? We have the same shoe size!