Where now?

I think I need to start taking [more] supplements or herbs or something. And I need to google the symptoms of early onset Alzheimer's. So I meet this chic. Well, 'meet' is a bit misleading. I walk into a lift. It was actually about to shut its doors so I actually jumped in. Squeeze into that space left. So many people crammed into a small space tends to produce a fascinating atmosphere. Everyone standing there trying to look at anything other than the other guys in there, and in my case, trying not to breathe.

I turn to re-position myself in this space I've just taken up, to be met by the smiling face of a lovely lass. [Lasses are always lovely] I smile back. It's the least a guy can do. But then she asks me how I've been. I go into crisis mode. The search application is loaded. Nothing. I need to change the algorithm or something. Something. "I'm good. Been good. You?". There's a slight panic in my voice. And my eyes. I think she sees it. We start going on about what each one is up to, as I constantly glance at the floor indicator looking out for 'GF'. I get a tad uneasy when a whole bunch of guys are listening in on a conversation [and I'm sure they are]. That shyness I keep telling people about. Why do they never believe me. They should meet me in a lift they should.

After a torturous 4 floors we disembark and continue to chat. I've all but given up on making a positive identification. I haven't met a chic on nights out and about since just about the beginning of the year. Can't be campus. Although she's in IT. [she doesn't code] College? That's the most likely bet. High school? I knew like 2 chics in high school, so that's unlikely.

Anyhow. She doesn't crucify me for having no clue what her name is. [I think that's because she didn't know that I didn't know exactly who she was, let alone knowing her name] This can't be a good thing.