As a General Rule by Dylan Jones Hinton
“As a general rule, I don’t trust my heart with any girl who claims to love sunsets. If the best part of your day is so utterly predictable, how can you ever be expected to treasure something as unique as a man’s spirit?”
The man in red was addressing the woman sitting across from him, but his volume was just loud enough for most patrons of the small coffee shop to hear him. It appeared to be a first date; they had passed introductions and common interests and he was several minutes into telling her about his online profile red flags. After each witticism he would glance around him, making sure his words were reaching all four corners of the room before continuing.
“So when I saw that you listed ‘staring directly into a solar eclipse’ as one of your interests I knew there was some kind of a kindred connection between the two of us.”
The young woman opened her mouth to reply, but the man in red continued on, twice as loud as he had been seconds before.
“Because humor, of course, is one of the surest marks of an intelligent and curious mind. My theatre professor once told me the most skilled actors in the world are actually the ones in comedy, not drama. I told that to the bouncer at the bar where I do stand-up and he agreed.”
By the end of his sentence the man in red had started to yell, as if he and his date were on opposite ends of a large, crowded bar. Everyone in the coffee shop could hear him, and he grinned around at the tables full of strangers before continuing in a near scream.
“Which reminds me — I saw that you studied film in college. I’ll show you this incredible art film I discovered a few years back that changed my life; almost no one has heard of it. The last girl I showed it to thought it was sexist, but I think she just didn’t understand the film.”
The woman had left the shop halfway through the man in red’s last sentence but he didn’t seem to notice. His voice had reached an almost in-human volume, and though customers continued to mind their own routines, he carried on, climbing on top of his chair and gesturing madly.
“I understand that men had privileges in the past, but art transcends all these gender movements; I am pro-equality, but all these internet feminists call me sexist because I ‘only include hot blondes for sex appeal’ in my sketch comedy videos. Hello? My target audience is men! And it’s A JOKE!”
The man in red was frothing at the mouth. From his position atop the tiny coffee house table he could see the power of his voice shaking everything around him. Customers held their drinks to their chests to keep them from spilling while mugs and plates behind the counter crashed to the floor.
“EVERY GIRL I MEET ON THIS APP IS SO DAMN FULL OF HERSELF. THEY ALL WANT TO CALL THEMSELVES FEMINISTS BUT I ALWAYS PICK UP THE BILL — NOT TO MENTION THEY NEVER LOOK LIKE THEY DO IN THEIR PROFILE PICTURES! IF THEY ALL HATE MEN SO MUCH WHY ARE THEY EVEN ON A DATING SITE?!”
The final bellow shattered the windows of the tiny store and the man in red fell silent as he looked outside. The sun was setting. He smiled, softly, and climbed down from the table. Customers gathered their fallen bags and papers and the man working the cash register began to sweep up pieces of broken porcelain. The man in red caught his eye as he left, calling out his customary goodbye.
“Fantastic cappuccino as usual! Swing and a miss today but wait til you see the tall glass of water I got lined up for tomorrow.”
And, just loud enough for himself to hear, he added,
“God, I wish I wasn’t such a hopeless romantic.”
Dylan Jones Hinton is a part time writer living in Minneapolis. Her most recent work can be found, or is forthcoming, in Maudlin House and Flash Fiction Magazine. She enjoys writing about the cosmic and the crass.
