Chapter 11
HOW TO Be a Normal Person
Step 2: Have Healthy Body Habits like a Normal Person (Male Version)
Now, it might go without saying, but having good hygiene is definitely normal. Unruly hair and facial hair is an indicator of not being normal. People can often make snap judgments based upon appearance, and if your hair is too long or if you have pungent body odor, it can be off-putting and will not allow you to find your sense of normalness. Make sure to brush and floss your teeth and schedule regular proctological exams to ensure you smell clean from both ends.
In addition to having a healthy outer personal appearance, make sure to take care of your inner you. After all, eating nothing but cake and cheese and burritos will cause your inner you to expand your outer you, thus affecting your appearance. Avoiding gastric inflaming foods will help to alleviate any potentially awkward situations. Stick with fruits and vegetables, and food with healthy fats and carbs. If someone says to you, “Hey, let’s go have a meat-lovers pizza with beer and cheesy bread and just have no respect for ourselves or our bodies,” suggest an alternative. For example, you could say, “Hey, bro, I have a better idea. Let’s go try that heart-healthy vegan restaurant that just opened over on Main Street. I hear their crispy kale and tofu salad is the bomb!”
Gus could do this part.
It was easy.
He already took care of his body.
Well, mostly.
His hair was a little long, sure, but he didn’t have “unruly facial hair” (or really any facial hair at all, much less unruly). He didn’t necessarily think much of his personal appearance, flexing in the mirror aside.
He hadn’t had a zit in weeks, thank god. And he had strong teeth and gums and his tongue was a little short, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He didn’t think he was particularly pungent, but he supposed he’d better check just to make sure.
He called Bertha on the phone the next night. She sounded surprised, but she quickly recovered. “Gus! What can I do for you?”
“Yes,” he said. “Hello. I am calling for advice.”
“Shhh,” she snapped, sounding slightly muffled. “I’ll put it on speaker, just be quiet. Did you hear what he said? He needs advice. He’s totally going to do it! Casey will be so—ahem. Hello, Gus. Nothing is going on here at all. It is just me and no one else. What sort of advice are you looking for?”
Gus could do this. It wasn’t that hard. They were friends, of a sort. And friends asked each other for advice. “Yes,” he said, ready to get this over with. “Advice. Well. It has come to my attention that I need to check if I am pungent or not. Who is your proctologist, and do you recommend them?”
Dead silence.
Gus didn’t know if he should repeat the question. He pulled his phone away from his ear and saw the call was still connected.
Finally, Bertha said, in a rather choked voice, “You want me to recommend a proctologist.”
“Yes,” Gus said, suddenly very glad they were not having this conversation face to face.
More silence.
Then, “Dr. Wong is very… thorough.”
“Good,” Gus said with a resolute nod. “I would like to hire his services.”
“Oh my god,” he heard someone moan in the background.
He heard more muffled whispering before Betty’s voice came on the line. “Gus, who told you that you were pungent?”
“No one,” Gus said. “I just need to make sure.”
“You’re not pungent,” she said. “You always smell nice. Like autumn leaves and gingersnaps.”
“Huh,” Gus said. “I use a body wash called Fall Cookies. That might be it.”
“Yes, Gus,” Betty said. “That might be it.”
“So, no pungency.”
“None whatsoever.”
“Well,” Gus said. “I suppose that makes things easier.”
“Gus, what brought this on?”
“Oh nothing. Nothing at all. Just… thinking. About stuff. And things.”
“Really.”
“Yes.”
“Well, this wasn’t the advice we were expecting to give, I guess.”
“What were you expecting?”
She laughed. “We thought you were going to ask us how to woo Casey.”
Gus sputtered for one minute and thirty-six seconds. It was a new record for sputtering, at least for Gus. By the time he’d finished, his hands were sweaty and he wished the We Three Queens had never heard of Abby, Oregon.
But much to his surprise, he said, “I can figure out how to do that myself.”
And hung up the phone.
THE NEXT morning, Gus made sure he had excellent hygiene before he left the house for the day. It was Saturday, and Casey had made mention of possibly coming over again at lunch to watch another movie. Gus wanted to tell him he would read his book, but since he had no interest in young adult fiction, postapocalyptic fiction, werewolf and/or vampire fiction, and bisexual love triangles, he was probably not going to. He just needed to figure out how to say it without it sounding rude. He was happy for Casey that he’d found such success (well, maybe not happy, because Gus couldn’t really parcel out a specific feeling he had toward Casey other than vague unease) but such things were not for him. He’d tried to look down the next steps in his how to be a normal person list, but there was nothing in there to assist in telling an asexual hipster that you weren’t going to read their book.
The Internet had failed Gustavo Tiberius.
But he was in a two-year contract with it now.
It was like a loveless arranged marriage.
God, his life was hard.
He left the house, this time wearing a green Hawaiian shirt and a pair of khakis, a brown belt, and a pair of flip-flops he’d found in his own closet from a couple of years ago when he’d decided to be daring during the summer.
The bell rang overhead as he walked into Lottie’s Lattes, and once again, Lottie stood in the front next to Casey, as she had been the last few days, eyeing him suspiciously. Casey had told him the day before that Lottie was sure that the Gus before them was a doppelganger, and that his aura was shifting into multiple colors. Gus had replied that he most certainly was not a doppelganger for heaven’s sake, and that Lottie should not be staring at his aura so hard.
“Gus,” Lottie said, eyes narrowed. “Best Supporting Actor winner 1961.”
“George Chakiris for West Side Story.”
“Best Documentary Short, same year.”
“Project Hope.”
“Hmm,” she said. “I’ll make your coffee, Gus. If that’s your real name.”
“Actually,” Gus said, remembering what he’d learned about being normal. He needed to take care of his body better, and the amount of caffeine he’d consumed over the last fifteen years was frightening. “Can I order the… oh for fuck’s sake, really? I have to say that? Ugh. The Bombastic Berry Blast fruit smoothie.” And then, “Please.” And then, “Thank you.” It was perfectly normal.
Of course, Lottie just glared at him.
“Good choice, man,” Casey said. “It really is bombastic. Just when you think you’ve gotten past the blackberries and raspberries, there’s this boom of acai that just hits and it’s… man, I don’t even know. It just hits right.”
“Yes, exactly,” Gus said, even though he had no idea what acai was and why it should hit anything at all.
“Dig the shirt,” Casey said, looking him up and down.
“Oh,” Gus said. “Thank you. I dig you.” Oh fuck. “I mean, your shirt. Er. And your… tattoos. And your bracelet.”
Lottie started coughing quite loudly.
Casey smiled shyly at him. “Thanks, man.” He reached up and ran a hand through his messy hair, pulled back and held loosely with a leather strap. His glasses were folded and hanging off the collar of his shirt, which announced he was a member of the Kearney, Nebraska Elks Lodge #984. Gus almost wanted to know where he’d gotten the shirt, but figured it was a hipster secret and he wasn’t privy to such information. He wondered if there was an entire hipster underground where they got together and compared ironic situations.
“Hey, I was thinking,” Casey said. “If you didn’t have any plans tonight, we should do something when you get off of work.”
And Gus was not prepared for this.
He had not read anything on his normal list to deal with this.
He had not even thought about this.
This… he didn’t know what this was.
So he said, “Er. Um. Ugh.”
And Casey said, “We could go get a pizza and a beer, maybe? If you wanted to.”
And this. This was on the list. Gus was prepared for this. And before he could think it through, Gus said, “Hey, bro, I have a better idea. Let’s go try that heart-healthy vegan restaurant that just opened over on Main Street. I hear their crispy kale and tofu salad is the bomb.”
Lottie dropped the smoothie she was making. It exploded as soon as it hit the ground, berry juice spraying all over her. “Sorry,” she exclaimed. “So sorry! It just slipped!”
Gus didn’t pay much attention because he was in the throes of realizing two things at once: first, no new heart-healthy vegan restaurant has opened in Abby, much less on Main Street. And two, being normal was a lot harder than it looked because what the hell had he just done?
“Really?” Casey asked him, handing Lottie a towel to wipe off the smoothie on her face and in her drag queen hair. “I didn’t know something like that had opened here. That sounds great.”
“Uhhh,” Gus said.
“You close the video store at five, right? We can go then. Try your bomb crispy kale and tofu salad.”
“Uhhh,” Gus said.
“It’s in my eye,” Lottie said. “There’s so much berry in my eye.”
“Uhhh,” Gus said. “I will see you later.”
And no, he didn’t run out of Lottie’s Lattes, Harry S. Truman squawking at his side. It just looked like he did.
“I NEED help wooing!” Gus hissed as soon as the We Three Queens walked into the Emporium.
They stared at him. Then, “This is what we expected in the first place,” Bertha said. “What do you need?”
It couldn’t be that bad, right? “I may have accidentally made up a vegan restaurant on Main Street and invited him to it.” Okay, it sounded bad. “But, to be fair, he started it by asking me to pizza and beer.”
The We Three Queens winced.
“And you countered with a fake vegan restaurant,” Betty said.
“Oh dear,” Bernice said. “You didn’t do very good at all.”
“What do we need to do?” Bertha asked, and Gus decided she was his favorite.
“Go and rent a storefront on Main Street and turn it into a vegan restaurant so that we can pretend. You’ll have to play the waitstaff, but if we disguise you, he shouldn’t know the difference. You’ll also need to learn vegan cuisine.”
“Okay,” Betty said. “By the level of detail and complexity, I am assuming you set the date for some time next month.”
“It’s not a date!” Gus said, sounding slightly horrified, because what if it was? “And it’s tonight!”
“Oh, son,” Bernice said, rolling her eyes. “You done fucked up now.”
“Bernice,” Bertha said. “Don’t be crude. Just because Gus fucked up doesn’t mean you need to call him out on it.”
“Yeah, Bernice,” Betty said. “He fucked up. He doesn’t need to hear it. He knows he fucked up. Big time. Don’t you, Gus. You know. You know you fucked up.”
Gus said, “Hrmph.”
“Yeah,” Betty said. “He knows.”
“I have solved all of your problems,” Bertha said, looking down at her phone. “I found a vegan restaurant on Main Avenue.”
“Main Avenue?” Gus asked. “There is no—”
“It’s in Eugene.”
“That’s an hour away!”
“Or you could just be a liar,” Bernice said. “Start a relationship built on lies. You liar.”
“I’m not starting anything!”
“Odd,” Betty said. “I could have sworn he just asked us for advice on how to woo.”
“Actually,” Bertha said, “he didn’t just ask us for advice on how to woo, he frantically asked us for advice on how to woo.”
Gus tried to put his fist in his mouth and screamed around it.
“Wow,” Betty said. “Feel better?”
“No,” Gus said. He dropped his hand. “I’m angry and wearing a green Hawaiian shirt.”
“About that,” Bernice said.
“Not the time,” Gus growled.
“Ah,” Bernice said. “Understood.”
“I already made you a reservation,” Bertha said. “For seven tonight. I am texting you the address and directions.”
“Now remember,” Bernice said, “don’t come on too strong. You don’t want to overwhelm the conversation. Unless it’s about his books. Then you goddamn better find out every single detail, I swear to god, Gustavo Tiberius, I will murder you if you don’t—”
“Um,” Betty said, trying to stem Bernice’s crazy eyes. “Bernice is partly right. Talk about him. Ask him his interests. Make sure you’re listening and ask follow-up questions. Gus, you hate follow-up questions, but you have to ask them. That’s how conversations work.”
“Also,” Bertha said, frowning slightly, “don’t try to get into his pants tonight. Keep it above the clothes until at least the fifth date. You don’t want him to buy the goods right away when he could be having little samples first to get hooked.”
Gus could only say “He’s asexual.”
Silence.
Then, “Give us a moment, Gus.”
They walked to the opposite end of the store where they proceeded to have a whispered conversation while glancing back at him occasionally. Gus glanced down at his phone and saw a message from HOW IS THIS MY LIFE.
muse werkin ovahtime can’t bring sammich. Want lottie 2?
Gus didn’t even try to think what it meant that he could pretty much understand Casey’s gibberish now.
No. I’m fine. Please continue writing your original young adult dystopia book as no one has ever written one before.
LOL! totes hyster. grumpy gus, comedian. chat late xx
He stared at those little double x’s for far too long.
“What are you smiling at?”
He looked up. The We Three Queens stood in front of him again, identical smirks on their faces.
“I wasn’t smiling,” he said. “I was doing lip stretches.”
“Gus, we’ve changed our strategy of wooing,” Bertha said, and if Gus was the type of person to spout such frivolous things, he would have told each of them how much he loved them.
“The fact that he is asexual and you’re interested speaks volumes about the both of you,” Bernice said. “You are a lovely man, and he would be very lucky to have you in any capacity. I hope you know that. I’m sure he does too.”
“You need to make sure he’s comfortable,” Betty said. “Let him set the pace for anything that might happen. But don’t go into this thinking anything will happen, Gus. You can’t change someone else to fit how you want them to be. I don’t think you’d do something like that, but even having expectations of something unrealistic can be detrimental.”
But Gus thought he could change himself and maybe that was enough.
“The fact that he’s already told you of his asexuality also shows how comfortable he is with you,” Bertha said. “We knew a lovely asexual woman back in the nineties who told us only after we’d known her for close to a year. It’s not a secret, nor is it meant to be, but it shows a sign of trust and comfort to be told.”
Gus was quiet for a moment. Then, “He gives really good hugs.”
The We Three Queens sighed.
“Ah, to be young again,” Bernice said, hands clasped over her heart.
“Hugging is wonderful,” Bertha said.
“We should hug more,” Betty said.
“This is not a date,” Gus said, just because he felt like it needed to be repeated.
“Of course it’s not,” Bertha said.
“It’s just two guys hanging out,” Bernice said.
“Getting to know each other,” Betty said.
“Maybe you catch each other’s eyes and stare for a little too long,” Bertha said.
“And maybe he touches the back of your hand,” Bernice said.
“And maybe you sigh just a little bit,” Betty said.
“And have fulfilling conversation,” Bertha said.
“And it’s like you’re in your own little world,” Bernice said.
“Where no one else exists,” Betty said.
“Oh my god,” Gus moaned. “Please stop. Please.”
They laughed and he thought it wasn’t the worst sound he’d ever heard.
God, he was getting soft.
GUS WASN’T nervous.
No, Gus was terrified.
He thought the We Three Queens would have helped. And they did. In their own way.
But as he watched the clock drag on through the afternoon, he realized he was so far out of his depth as to be rather alarming. Gus did not like alarming situations. They made him uncomfortable. And when Gus was uncomfortable, he started shutting down.
Rather than risk it, he decided to close down the Emporium early to head home and prepare for battle.
“I can do this,” he told Harry S. Truman as he put him in the carrier. “I am pretty certain I can do this.”
Harry S. Truman didn’t seem to have an opinion one way or another about Gus’s capabilities to have a social outing with an asexual hipster. Gus didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted.
No. That was a lie.
He was insulted.
THERE WAS no entry titled How to Go Out as Friends with an Asexual Hipster so that It Leads to Something More.
This was troubling to Gus.
He would have thought that more people would have run in to this situation.
He scrolled down the page.
If he wanted to do this right, he would have to skip a few steps.
He figured he was allowed.
He hoped there would be no ramifications for going out of order.
This was an emergency, after all.
Besides, what was the worst that could happen?
How to Be a Normal Person
Step 17: Acting like a Normal Person
Wow! Congratulations for making it this far! Hopefully, you haven’t skipped any steps to get to this point. The consequences could be somewhat dire if so. Reading things out of order is definitely not something normal people do. It’s a good thing you didn’t do that, though, right?
“Well fuck,” Gus said succinctly.
And yet he read on.
He would not be deterred.
Now that you know how to dress like a normal person (step 1), have a clean and healthy body like a normal person (step 2), and know how to kill and skin an elk like a normal person (step 11), it’s time to put all that information together for the next big step: acting like a normal person.
Following these next easy steps will have people around you saying “Wow! When did you get to be so normal?”
“That’s exactly what I want,” Gus said. “Wow, Gus! When did you get to be so normal? Oh, I don’t know. I’m just doing what I normally do. You know. S’cool. It’s all good in the hood. Chillax, man. Too legit to quit.”
He had this.
STEP 17A: Having a confident attitude isn’t for everyone. It can be hard to appear self-assured, especially if you have confidence issues. While it may be difficult to actually be confident, you can still appear confident. As the great humanitarian and philosopher Mahatma Gandhi once said, “Fake it until you make it.”
People tend to gravitate toward those that are confident. It also helps that confident people also tend to be in positions of power, such as the CEO of a Fortune 500 company or a twentysomething from old money who has never had to work for anything in his life but will most likely always have a full head of hair, no matter how much others wish he would go bald because there should be at least something faulty about him.
You may not always feel confidence, but others can smell weakness like sharks can smell blood on the water. So while you may be meek and mild, let your inner lion roar and take charge of the situation. Using power phrases like “I’ve got this” or “Yes, I’ve been yachting before and I had a marvelous time, thanks for asking” or “Don’t worry, we can just charge this to my black Amex card that I have which carries an egregiously high spending limit and a reasonable rate of interest” will do wonders for you. Avoid phrases like “Maybe we should…” or “If you think that’s a good idea…” or “My grandmother sets my curfew and I can’t be late or she’ll lock me in the broom closet again,” as they could potentially make you look weaker. Appearing weak is definitely not normal and you should avoid it at all costs.
AT EIGHTEEN minutes past five in the afternoon, there was a knock on the door of the residence of Gustavo Tiberius.
Gus, dressed in the finest button-down shirt he could find in his house (plain white—Pastor Tommy had worn it when he was trying to infiltrate a Young Republicans meeting, only to have been found out, as he was neither young nor a Republican). He also found a bright pink tie to be his splash of color. He wore his slacks from work and a pair of loafers that he hoped would be considered sensible.
“I look like a gay Mormon missionary,” he lamented in the mirror. “Pardon me, have you heard the word of the Lord? It’s fabulous!” He scowled at his reflection.
He wasn’t exactly radiating confidence, so when the knock on the door came, he was sure he was as far from normal as he could possibly be.
Gus would never be confused for an optimist, but he told himself that it was possible that asexual hipsters had a weakness for pseudo-gay pseudo-Mormons, and so he was essentially like catnip. He would open the door and Casey would feel the urge to ravage him (platonically, of course, with the possibility of another hug or two that Gus would absolutely roll his eyes at but accept gladly).
“Radiate confidence,” he muttered as he walked the long walk to the front door. “Radiate confidence. Radiate confidence.”
He opened the door, radiating as much as he possibly could.
Of course, Casey just had to be standing on the other side, that same soft and lazy smile on his face. And he just had to have his hair pulled back again, a couple of strands falling around the thick rims of his glasses. And he just had to be wearing a checkered black-and-green sweater-vest over a white collared shirt. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he wore a matching green bow tie that, up until that moment, Gus hadn’t realized would be one of his greatest weaknesses. If you had told Gus even a week ago that a bow tie worn by a bearded guy who could pull off a man bun, for fuck’s sake, would be the beginning of his downfall, most likely he would have glowered at you until you returned to the pit from which you had crawled with the sole purpose of saying something ridiculous.
Now, though.
Well.
Now he didn’t have many words at all aside from adorable and gorgeous and all other manner of offensive things that made Gus want to gouge his eyes out with a dull and rusted spoon.
“Hey, Gus,” Casey said, looking amused. “Great tie, man. Really fits you.”
“Yes, well,” Gus said, radiating as much confidence as he possibly could. “I try.” He decided a confident person would cross their arms over their chest and lean against the doorway. He started to do just that, but misjudged the distance he had to lean and promptly fell against the wall. “Ha, ha,” he said confidently as he pulled himself back up. “How’d that get there.”
Casey squinted at him. “The wall? I think it got there when the house was built.”
“Yeah,” Gus said because he was nothing but confident. “Cool, man. Cool.” And then, much to his horror, his hands became independent of his body and made finger guns, pointing them at Casey. His mouth, unable to resist, abdicated control to the power of the finger guns and said, “Pew, pew, pew.”
He quickly came to the conclusion that finger guns could never be brought out with confidence, no matter who the person was. They did nothing to add to the conversation (aside from making it extremely awkward) and made the user of said finger guns almost unable to resist the urge to slam the door in an asexual hipster’s face and go bury himself under the blankets on the bed and wait for the sweet relief of inevitable death.
He put his finger guns away. He should not be allowed to carry weapons of mass humiliation.
“Right on,” Casey said. “I can get behind that.” Then he made his own finger guns and he looked so fucking stupid that Gus’s heart tripped all over itself in his chest, what the hell.
He was confident. He had this. “Your bow tie is really rad,” he said and struggled not to wince because who the fuck says rad?
Casey perked up. “Yeah? Thanks, man. I saw it at the store and was like, yeah. I gotta have that. It’s just so… like. I don’t even know. I just had this feeling about it. So I bought it.”
“Yeah,” Gus said. “Totally. I can totally see that. Great story. Right on, brotha.”
Casey grinned. “You okay, man?”
“I’m epic,” Gus said. “I’m so epic, I’m like the Lord of the Rings musical score by Howard Shore, ya know?”
“Cool,” Casey said. “I never saw those movies.”
“They’re epic,” Gus said. “Just… boom.”
“Yeah,” Casey said. “I saw the commercials. I was, like, ten years old.”
Well, if that didn’t make Gus feel old as fuck.
“So,” Gus said, trying not to think of his pending mortality or gray hairs that would grow out his ears, “you ready to go?”
“Sure,” Casey said. “I gotta try that kale and tofu salad. You said it’s the bomb. I need to see what a bomb is to Gustavo Tiberius.”
“Yeah,” Gus said. “Totally.” Because Gus didn’t know what a bomb was to Gustavo Tiberius either. He didn’t think it would be kale and tofu salad.
“I just don’t know where it is,” he said. “Lottie didn’t know of a new vegan restaurant that had opened on Main. I didn’t see one walking over here.”
“Yeah,” Gus said, scratching the back of his neck. “About that. By Main Street, I meant Main Avenue. In Eugene. Surprise.”
“Dude,” Casey breathed. “Road trip.”
“It’s just an hour,” Gus grumbled and locked the door behind him.
STEP 17B: Normal people are known to moderate the amount of information they give out about themselves. While it can be thrilling to meet new people and make new friends, revealing intimate information much too soon can make even the most normal of people uncomfortable. You don’t want to alienate potential new friends by saying the wrong thing, such as discussing your latest dermatological appointment to address your flaking skin or that time in college where you got so drunk you threw up on a cat, felt bad, adopted said cat, and renamed it Chunks McBurger. Maintain a careful distance until such time both parties are receptive to hearing such personal information.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “If I can’t talk about things that have happened to me that might be offensive to others, what can be discussed?” Have no fear, for now you will learn the joys of small talk.
Despite the name, there is nothing small about small talk. Small talk allows two or more parties to make the most of what might otherwise be an awkward conversation. The willingness to engage in small talk shows how normal you are and how approachable you can be. Maintain eye contact and make sure to appear interested. If you are adept at humor, consider telling a clean, nonoffensive joke. Don’t overtake a conversation and make it about yourself. Small talk is like tennis, there is a back and forth, and sometimes, the rules make absolutely no sense.
Now, let’s look at some examples of small talk and/or conversation starters:
—Hello, friend! Do you know how Moses made his tea? Hebrewed it!
—What do you think about (local sports team)?
—Were you planning on attending the office Christmas party?
—Those are some nice shoes! Tell me where you got them.
—How did you do on the history quiz?
—Do you have a map? I seem to have gotten lost in your eyes.
GUSTAVO TIBERIUS wasn’t one who needed to fill silence. He was perfectly content with not talking and having people not talk to him. It made things easier, prevented situations from getting awkward, and allowed everyone (read: Gus) to not have to worry about saying anything embarrassing to someone they might consider being friends with (and possibly have developed a little bit of a crush on—key word little, the tiniest thing, so small that it might as well be negligible).
Casey Richards did not like silence apparently.
Casey, after getting over his excitement of taking a road trip with Gus, offered to drive. Gus, curious as to what kind of car a hipster would drive, agreed immediately. Gus was positive it would be an ironic Volkswagen Beetle or an electric SUV or some other such nonsense.
He was not prepared for Casey’s soccer-mom minivan.
“Seriously,” Gus said, coming to a stop in the coffee shop parking lot.
“Yep,” Casey said with no hint of shame whatsoever as he unlocked it with the key fob.
“Seriously.”
“I can fit a lot of people in it,” Casey said, shrugging slightly. “And it hotboxes like a motherfucker.”
“That should not be a qualification for buying a car,” Gus scolded.
“Or should it be the only one,” Casey said.
“No,” Gus said. “It shouldn’t.”
“Or should it,” Casey whispered, eyes wide.
Gus had lived with Pastor Tommy for over twenty-five years. He had learned early on it was pretty pointless to argue with a stoner, even if said stoner wasn’t stoned. You would never win, so it was better not to try. It just made life easier.
They climbed into the minivan and Casey looked over at him expectantly.
Gus was slightly nervous. Was he expected to start the small talk already? He tried to remember any of the conversation topics he’d read before leaving the house and, for the life of him, couldn’t think of a single one.
He was doomed.
Casey said, “So. Where to?”
“Oh,” Gus said. “Um. Eugene.”
A smile tugged at Casey’s lips. “Yeah. I got that much. Where in Eugene? I can just plug it into the GPS.”
“Right,” Gus said. “Just plug it into the old GPS. Exactly.”
Casey waited.
Gus said, “Oh. You need the address. To use the GPS. Um. I have that.”
“Good,” Casey said. “We might need it.”
“Ha-ha,” Gus said, trying to radiate confidence. “Good one. Do you know how Moses made his tea? Hebrewed it!”
Casey burst out laughing. “What the fuck?”
Gus nodded, his armpits sweating. “I know, right? Wordplay. Gets me every time.” He felt relief that his first attempt at humor tonight had not fallen flat. The website had told him he had to be careful with humor, because if it failed, it could lead to the worst part of small talk: Awkward Silences.
Gus felt more confident. He fumbled with his phone and pulled up the last text from the We Three Queens. He read off the address to Casey, who plugged it into his phone. The GPS acknowledged the address and announced it would take one hour and thirteen minutes to arrive at the destination. Gus thought that sounded like the longest stretch of time known to mankind. He felt less confident.
Then Casey sang the song of his people, four words that struck fear in Gustavo’s heart.
“Okay,” Casey said. “It’s selfie time.”
Gus said, “How did you do on the history quiz?”
Casey said, “What.”
Gus said, “Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” and prayed it was enough to make Casey forget about the selfie.
However, Casey was the first hipster that Gus had had prolonged exposure to, and he was learning that they did not give up lightly.
“You’re funny,” Casey said. “Bring it in, Gustavo. I am going to press my face against your face.”
And Gus said, “Meep,” but could not stop Casey from pulling him over and pressing up against each other until they were cheek to cheek. Casey’s beard was as soft as Gus thought it would be, though he adamantly refused to admit he had spent any time at all thinking about it. He smelled good, that hint of pot and mint and something that was just undeniably Casey.
“Smile, Gustavo,” Casey said, bringing his phone up in front of them.
Gus sort of smiled.
“Almost,” Casey said. “You’re almost there.”
Gus bared his teeth a little bit.
“Too far,” Casey said. “Bring it back just a little.”
Gus covered his teeth.
“Hey, Gus,” Casey said, as if they weren’t pressed together in a minivan trying to take a selfie. “Knock knock.”
“What?”
“Knock knock.”
And because he was ready to not be so up in Casey’s vicinity anymore before he did something awkward like kiss his cheek, he said, “Who’s there?”
“A shark.”
“A shark who?”
“A shark who just ate your whole family and is now going to eat you.”
Gus couldn’t stop the smile even if he tried because that was so stupid.
“Got it,” Casey said, sounding smug. He squeezed Gus’s neck briefly before pulling away.
“You tricked me,” Gus said. “That was a terrible joke and you’re a terrible person.”
“I feel real bad about it,” he said, looking down at his phone. “Hey, followers. I got him to smile. Isn’t it awesome? Hashtag the evolution of Grumpy Gus will be televised. Hashtag mountain town adventures. Hashtag men in ties. Hashtag first hangout jitters. Hash tag four twenty is a frame of mind. And posted.”
Gus gaped at him.
“What?” Casey asked as he started the minivan.
“Um,” Gus said. He’d misheard, obviously. He hadn’t said first hangout jitters, because that sounded almost like it was a date. He’d probably said burst bangout quitters, which was an Instagram thing like LOL. Yes. That was exactly it. Time to move on. “So. Casey. Please. Tell me more about yourself.”
He told himself that was a good start.
“What do you want to know?” Casey asked.
Motherfucker. That wasn’t how small talk worked. Gus reminded himself that he needed to keep it distant. Play it cool. He shrugged. “Whatever’s clever, y’all,” and wondered why he was even allowed out in public.
Casey snorted. “How about this. I’ll ask you a question and then you can ask me a question and we can go back and forth.” He pulled out of the parking lot and onto Main Street, heading toward Interstate 5. “You have to answer honestly. If you don’t want to answer, just say so and we can think of a different question. Remember: share space.”
That sounded doable. And dangerous. Gus said, “Ain’t no thang.” He coughed. “I mean, yeah. Sure. Sounds good.”
“Okay. You want me to go first?”
Gus thought that sounded awful, but he hadn’t thought of a question yet. “Yes.”
“Okay. Have you ever smoked weed?” No hesitation, like he’d been waiting to ask that question. Gus wondered how many more questions he had saved up.
“Uh,” Gus said. “Yeah. I have.”
“With who?”
“I think it’s my turn to ask a question,” Gus said.
Casey narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. I’m onto you, man. Go ahead.”
Small talk. Small talk. He could do normal small talk. “What are your hopes and dreams for the future?” And… fuck his life.
“Whoa,” Casey said. “That’s deep.”
Gus wished he had a rewind button. Or an eject button.
“I suppose… I dunno, man. I guess I just want what everyone else wants. I want to be happy. I want to do something that matters. I want to make others happy. I want to roll the world’s fattest joint and smoke it for weeks. I want to hike the Appalachian Trail. I want to adopt a bird and name it Falcor. You know, the usual.”
“Nothing about that is usual,” Gus said. “Falcor? What the hell.”
“Yeah,” Casey said. “But doesn’t it sound awesome? My turn. Who did you smoke weed with?”
And Gus should have known Casey wouldn’t drop it. He wondered if he should pass this question off. He opened his mouth to do just that when he said, “Pastor Tommy. He… uh. My dad. He loved smoking. Had done so for years. At first it was just pleasure. Because he wanted to. And then it was to help with the pain.”
“He sounded like a good dude,” Casey said quietly.
“Yeah,” Gus said, trying to keep his voice level. “The best, really.”
“You’re lucky to have had that, you know?”
“I know,” Gus said. Then, “Didn’t you?”
Casey shrugged, not taking his eyes off the road. “For a while,” he said. “Grew up in Yakima. Parents didn’t like that I slept around. Didn’t like that I slept with men. Didn’t like that I really didn’t want to sleep with anyone. Didn’t like that I smoked weed. Didn’t like that I found success without going to college. Didn’t like that I moved to LA. It was a shit show, man. For a little while. I got out to clear my head. Haven’t really been back since.”
“Do you want to?”
“Go back? Sure. One day. Not now. I like what I have now. My turn. Favorite movie of all time?”
“Creature from the Black Lagoon,” Gus said. “Hands down.”
“No shit? I can respect that. I saw that when I was a kid. Righteous.”
“What’s yours?”
“Oh man,” Casey said. “You’re going to bring out the Eyebrows of Judgment.”
“What?” Gus asked, barely stopping himself from reaching up and covering his eyebrows. “I don’t have that.”
“Yeah you do. They’re gnarly.”
“Is it Michael Bay?” Gus demanded. “Is your favorite movie one by Michael Bay? If it is, you need to pull over and let me out now because that’s awful and you should be ashamed of yourself and I can’t be seen in public with you.”
“It’s not Michael Bay,” Casey said, rolling his eyes. “But you have to admit, The Rock was pretty good.”
“I don’t have to admit anything,” Gus hissed. “And that movie was passable at best, the only reason being Sean Connery stooping himself to the lowest levels in order to pick up a paycheck.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay, you ready?”
“Go,” Gus said. “And remember, I own a video store, so my opinion matters more.”
“Right. It’s from the last decade. Hmm. Maybe eleven years ago.”
“Okay. But if you say any movie with Jennifer Lopez, you’re fired from life.”
“Nah,” Casey said. “Ensemble cast. Billy Bob Thornton and—”
“Love Actually,” Gus said immediately. Then, “Really? Really, Casey?”
“Hey! I can’t help it if I love love.”
“Gross,” Gus muttered. “That was the worst sentence ever. I’m embarrassed for you.”
“There’s the Eyebrows of Judgment. I knew they’d make an appearance.”
“Well, yeah. I can’t not judge.”
“I see right through you, Gustavo Tiberius,” Casey said. “Don’t think I don’t. You front with this cool and stony exterior, but deep inside, you’re nothing but a big old teddy bear with a heart filled with sunshine he wants to release up on the world. Remember, I know your secret. You’re a Share Bear.”
Gus glared at him. “Nothing you just said should be used to describe anyone ever,” but he wondered just how much Casey could see him. Or, rather, how much he wanted to show to Casey. Not in a Share Bear way, of course, because what the fuck. But other ways?
Maybe. Maybe a lot.
And god, if that didn’t scare the shit out of him.
STEP 17C: Socializing in public settings can be difficult for those that aren’t prepared. And if you’re not prepared, chances are you will not be acting normal.
The first thing to know is that it’s impossible to please everyone, so you shouldn’t even begin to try. Opinions are like sphincters in that most people have them, just some are louder than others and can be terribly messy if not handled correctly. The less you worry about other people’s opinions of you, the better you’ll be. Normal people tend to not spend time worrying about what others think. However, chances are you’re here because of opinions of others, and that’s okay too. It may seem confusing and that it doesn’t make sense, but it will all even out in the end. Try not to worry so much about being normal. That being said, continue reading on to learn how to be more normal!
Secondly, be mindful that any interests and/or hobbies you may have may not be shared by everyone. In fact, something you do for fun may be considered “extreme” or “off-putting” by others. Make sure you are aware of the people you are surrounded by and get a feel for the room before you make any announcements that you are a budding taxidermist and you just stuffed an armadillo that you found on the side of the road or that you are a Satanist and you are looking for your first sacrifice to take place during the new moon when the world is at its darkest. People may not share your interests and it isn’t polite or normal to force them on anyone.
And this brings about the third point: making sure to have good control on your emotions. There might be people out there who are not normal and who will go against everything you’ve learned so far. It can be difficult to find an appropriate emotional response when someone comes up to you and says they support something you are so adamantly opposed to, like free-range beef or wearing rubber bracelets for every single charity known to mankind. Learning to suppress your emotions is certainly normal and will create a positive and safe environment.
For example, Billy is invited to a dinner party where he is unfamiliar with most of the other guests. While waiting for hors d’oeuvres, an acquaintance of Billy’s, a woman named Rhonda, approaches Billy and requests angry sex because she hasn’t forgiven him for some slight from years ago that Billy can’t even be sure actually occurred. Billy’s opinion is that Rhonda is crazy, but he keeps it to himself, reins in his own anger, declines her demand of rage sex, and instead suggests they play a round of canasta and possibly go out for chocolate malts the next day.
Guess what?
Twist ending.
Billy marries Rhonda one year later.
DURING THE first “hangout” (and honestly, Gus was probably going to obsess about that word for the rest of time), he learned the following things about Casey and himself:
Casey could fold his tongue, and he had a freckle on his forehead that was almost shaped like a heart.
Casey started writing his postapocalyptic werewolf/vampire books on a dare and four years later, he had an agent, books on the New York Times Bestseller list, and a deadline he was probably going to miss for the last book because “I can’t quite figure out how to resolve the bisexual love triangle and I’m thinking of just making it a threesome, but my agent said my average reader is a sixteen-year-old girl and I don’t know if I have it in me to corrupt them like that.”
Casey liked watching Gus when he talked, which made for a scary driving experience.
Gus liked it when Casey watched him, which made for a scary life experience.
Casey had a large network of friends back in LA that absolutely did not understand why he moved to Abby, Oregon, a place none of them had ever heard of. They’d tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t be deterred because “LA’s awesome, man, except when all it does is drown you.”
Casey smoked weed almost daily, but he didn’t today because he wanted to make sure that Gus didn’t think Casey was under the influence at any point during their first hangout because “I don’t want you to overthink anything,” which caused Gus to start overthinking everything.
Gus told him about how he’d met the We Three Queens, about making fun of Lottie for her alliterative shop name, about the inspirational message of the day (Every day is a first chance at something new) and how he believed that either the calendar was sentient, or that the We Three Queens broke into his house every day and changed the message in order to fuck with him because they were getting to be way too on-point to be coincidence.
“Oh?” Casey said. “So today is your chance at something new?”
Gus blushed horribly.
Casey said, “There it is.”
KALE AND tofu salad turned out to be disgusting.
But Gus was monitoring his opinions because the Internet told him to. He was controlling his emotions because it was the normal thing to do. He was also choking down something that tasted like a leafy green asshole.
Casey took a bite of kale and tofu, made a face, and said, “This shit is disgusting.”
Gus, normal as all get-out, said, “Hmm,” as he chewed through the pain.
“Seriously, man,” Casey said. “It feels like I just got punched in the face with every sad feeling I’ve ever had.”
“Interesting,” Gus said, thinking this was possibly small talk, which he was now a master of. “Tell me more.”
“I want to send this back,” Casey said, scowling at the bowl in front of him. “And I want to tell anyone coming in here to save themselves from a fate worse than death because it’s far too late for me.”
Gus felt bad, but he kept his emotions under control. “Fascinating. Cool beans.”
“Do you like it?” Casey demanded.
Gus knew he could lie, and he hadn’t read anything about whether or not normal people lied, but he wasn’t quite sure that normal people ate kale and tofu salad and enjoyed it. It honestly didn’t feel like something normal people did. Gus sighed because his life was so complicated. “No,” he said. “It’s not the bomb.”
“Right?” Casey exclaimed. “It’s like the opposite of the bomb. It’s the anti-bomb.”
Gus winced. So not a good first hangout. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at the mess before him.
“Hey,” Casey said, reaching over and briefly squeezing Gus’s hand before letting go. “This wasn’t your fault. You did not birth this abomination. Dude. I don’t even want to Instagram this, that’s how bad this is.”
“Oh no,” Gus said. “What is the world coming to.”
“Seriously. We need to find pizza. And beer. We can even make it a microbrew if you feel like being so fancy.”
The waiter appeared at their table. “How is everything?”
“Gross,” Casey said seriously. “Your salad offended my taste buds and I would like to leave the premises.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the waiter said, slightly taken aback. “I’m sure I can bring you something else that would—”
“Do you have sausage pizza?” Casey asked.
“Um. No. This is a vegan restaurant. We don’t eat anything here that had a face.”
“Then you cannot bring me anything I want. Aside from the check.” He looked back at Gus. “I tried, man. I’m sorry. But I need meat to live. I’m a carnivore. I want to eat things that have faces.”
Gus choked, but somehow managed to nod.
Casey was a loud, opinionated asshole who did not keep his emotions in check.
Gus thought that might be slightly awesome.
THEY FOUND a pizza place halfway back to Abby, a little hole-in-the-wall place where the floor was sticky and the food greasy.
Casey loved it and Instagrammed the whole thing.
Gus thought that was a little excessive, but kept that opinion to himself.
Throughout the rest of the night, Gus had a weird feeling in his chest as he watched Casey, as he talked with him. As he did his best to make him smile. To make him laugh. Especially to make him laugh because Gus was convinced it was the nicest sound he’d heard in a very long time.
It wasn’t until the night was ending that he could figure out what that feeling was.
Casey, for some reason, felt the need to walk Gus to his door after parking the minivan. Gus thought this was slightly uncomfortable and awkward, but was determined not to make it more so. The best way to do that, he knew, was to let Casey take the lead, because Gus was sure to fuck it up somehow and do something abnormal or weird or strange.
It didn’t stop him from having a mini internal freak-out as they stood on the porch. How did they end this? Did they shake hands? Did they kiss? Casey said he was mostly okay with kissing, but Gus thought it might be too soon for that. For the both of them. Did they make plans to go out again? When would he see Casey next? Monday at the coffee shop? Next week sometime? Was this just a friends thing or was it actually a date? Did Gus even want it to be a date? Did Casey? And why were Casey’s eyes so fucking bright and pretty and why did Gus want to stare into them longingly like they were the only thing in the world?
“Have you got a map?” Gus said. “Because I seem to have gotten lost in your eyes.”
Casey gaped at him.
“Oh crap,” Gus groaned, wishing for death. He hoped Casey wouldn’t take it the wrong way if Gus told him he could never see him again because he would have to move to the farthest corners of the globe to escape his own idiocy. It would only be—
“Can I hug you?” Casey asked instead, like he was nervous and was worried Gus would say no.
Gus didn’t even have to think twice. “Yes please,” he said and wanted to bash his head against the wall for not sounding infinitely more badass than that.
“Awesome,” Casey said, a smile pulling on his lips. “Bring it in, Grumpy Gus.”
Gus didn’t even scowl at that. He figured normal people wouldn’t. And he was well on his way to becoming normal. Nicknames were normal, and Casey had given him a nickname.
There was a brief, awkward moment where Gus was unsure of where to put his hands. It seemed important, the placement. It was his second hug from Casey, but it would be his first time responding, and he wanted to get it right. He’d messed up their first time, at least a little bit, but the inspirational calendar had told him it was a new day and a first chance at something new.
They were almost of the same height, Casey maybe a little shorter. Gus tried to maintain eye contact, but he couldn’t quite get there, because this was as close to anyone as he’d allowed himself in a long time. It felt claustrophobic, almost. Unbearably intimate. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe it was too much and—
Casey leaned in first. His arms wound their way around Gus, going under his arms again, just like the first time. Gus wondered if this was how he always hugged, wonder if this was how he would always hug. That thought, that he knew part of Casey, that he knew how he hugged, made that strange feeling in Gus’s chest burst just a little bit more.
Casey’s chin hooked on to Gus’s shoulder, and he turned his face slightly into Gus’s neck, his nose pressed into his throat.
And Gus?
Gus manned the fuck up.
He brought his arms up and around Casey’s shoulders, wrapping them around Casey’s neck, pulling him close. Casey made this happy little noise in the back of his throat, caught somewhere between a sigh and a groan. Gus liked that sound. Gus liked that sound quite a bit.
He’d never really had this, not before. Not with someone who could potentially be a romantic partner, in at least some sense. He worried for a moment if some level of arousal on his part would ruin this, if his dick would be the Benedict Arnold of dicks and betray him.
But it didn’t happen. There was arousal there, Gus could feel it bubbling below the surface. However, it was a low thing, a negligible thing, outweighed by that bright, damning feeling in his chest. As his fingers brushed against the hair at the back of Casey’s neck, Gus understood if for what it was.
Happiness.
It was happiness.
Gus was a little dumbstruck with the idea that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt happy. And why was it that it would be happening now.
Simple answers, those.
He hadn’t been happy since Pastor Tommy died.
He was happy now because of an asexual hipster.
He was so fucking screwed.