Thursday, 10 November 2005

I was con­tacted the other day by a woman who wanted me to come by in the morn­ing for a “no-strings at­tached sex­ual en­coun­ter.” I get many of these emails on a reg­u­lar ba­sis. So many women want to sleep with me that I have set up a sys­tem that looks for cer­tain words in the con­tent of the mes­sage and puts them into a hi­er­ar­chy of fold­ers. Most of them end up in the trash. Attachments are au­to­mat­i­cally stripped from the emails, scanned for viruses and placed in their own folder. Emails con­tain­ing links end up in the trash, but all emails from red­heads are flagged pri­or­ity and sent to a spe­cial ac­count that im­me­di­ately sends a text mes­sage to my cell phone. With all the safe­guards I have in place, it is rare for one of these emails to end up in my in­box.

That same day I briefly lost my keys. This was not a good thing. I looked in all the places I usu­ally lose my keys, the pock­ets of coats, in my pants, un­der the couch, in the kitchen sink. I didn’t check the car be­cause I can’t get in my apart­ment with­out my keys, and I was in my apart­ment. After I looked in the usual lost places I be­gan to get para­noid. I tried think­ing of all the places I would go if I were keys; the doors and locks I would open, vaults, di­aries, empty build­ings and clos­ets. The keys weren’t there ei­ther, so I checked my coat and pants and couch and sink again. They weren’t there still. Where were they? In my car. There are only two things that can drive me to dis­trac­tion, a woman re­quest­ing a “no-strings at­tached sex­ual en­coun­ter” and los­ing my keys. Is this re­ally hap­pen­ing? The an­swer is al­ways no.