#3: service with a simile

Bless you, you stroked my ego (ahem).

You caught me in good form. I had to send a FedEx package and almost gave up before I found the Kinko's I'd never been to before, the one you work at.

There you were, young, pudgy, cute, helping customers, your crystal beaded choker setting you apart. I filled out my forms, stuffed my box and when you were free asked if I could give my box to you.

You seemed distracted, seemed to be taking an awful long time at the register, seemed to be looking back at my box. Was something wrong with the way I'd packed it?

I wasn't wearing anything under these thin pants. You weren't looking at the box, you were looking at my box, stealing glances.

Is it stealing if it's given to you?

I swelled with pride. Your interest interested me. But we were in my place of business, your place of work.

The FedEx receiving counter is lower than the other counters, I guess in case a box is extra big, it's easy to handle, easy to get on the scale; easy for you and your coworkers to see all its dimensions. I'd say it was about crotch-high.

Your final move pulsed with bravery: you leaned over the low counter with my receipt, leaned close, not really to me, to it.

"Here's your receipt number," you said to it, making a mark on the paper but not looking where you were marking. "And here's the FedEx website, in case you want to track it."

Was that some kind of a code? My heart was racing; I felt heavy and light at the same time. I left one box and took the other -- not sure if I'd made the right choice -- stood in the parking lot a long time, dazed, fluttering, eventually regaining my senses.

Then I drove off with a big head.