Imagine if you will a telephone answering-machine dating-service.
One of those "Lowered Expectations" deals where you call in, and after the beep you try and sell yourself without sounding too desperate. You may have thought about it, wondered what kind of person would use such a service.
I don't wonder anymore. I know.
Of all the things I've heard whilst listening to these messages, and I've heard a lot of them, there's only one which has stayed with me all these years. One golden nugget hidden away beside all the "5'9"s and "125 lbs", and "midnight strolls along the beach"'s. There remains but a single treasure, which has plagued my thoughts from the very moment it first entered my head, so many years ago.
"I can do shit with my legs."
I stopped the tape immediately, and slammed the "rewind" button. My mind was whirling, trying to wrap itself around what had just been said, or in truth, re-said.
I stopped the tape, I was sweating, and my fingers slipped off the answering-machine's control panel.
I pressed "play", took a drag from my cigarette, and listened.
And there it was again, clear as day:
"I can do shit with my legs."
Nestled between standard, unimaginitive descriptions it called to me. There was no hint of desperation in this person's voice. They were confident with themselves, so confident that they taunt me even now as I sit here writing this.
I took down the caller's telephone number, tore it up and took it down again. I could picture them smiling, the hot, dangerous smile of a hunter who has caught their prey.
I never could bring myself to call that number. I never found out what they meant, what meaning could be taken from a phrase as cryptic as:
"I can do shit with my legs."
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