by TJ Klune
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 f
inger 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.”
