ASHLAND — I pulled a small journal from my shirt pocket, just for something to do.
I’d scheduled a meet-and-greet at Downtown Perk in Ashland at 1 p.m. It was a quarter after. Not a soul had shown up.
I wrote in the journal, “What if no one comes?”
There’d been a pretty good turnout for my previous meet-and-greet at the coffee shop. Those who came offered plenty of fodder for stories or columns. I was hoping this would be a more low-key affair with fewer people.
“Be careful what you hope for,” I wrote in my journal.
A server came along and offered to warm up my coffee.
“No thanks,” I said, craning my neck and looking around the room — hoping to see a familiar face. Or even an unfamiliar one. At this point I would have settled for an irate reader griping about my word choice or sentence structure. Or my looks. Anything.
But no.
“In future, schedule meet-and-greets on weekends, when people don’t have to work,” I wrote in my journal.
“Or parade up and down Main Street wearing a sandwich sign soliciting input from passers-by,” a voice inside my head chimed in.
By half-past one I was starting to get lonely. I thought to ask a server to help me find my imaginary contact lens, just for the sake of a little human interaction. Probably just as well I didn’t; she surely would have noticed I was wearing glasses.
Fifteen minutes later, I began to entertain thoughts of faking a medical emergency. At least I’d have a few EMTs to keep me company for awhile.
Then it occurred to me this would probably be illegal. I’d end up facing a misdemeanor count of inducing panic.
At least in jail I’d have a captive audience — and my roommates would have plenty of fantastic stories to share. Besides the whoppers they’d told the judge.
At 1:45 p.m., I began to panic. I asked a server for a piece of cardboard and a sharpie. In big, bold letters I scrawled “IRV OSLIN IS A DORK — CHANGE MY MIND.”
Just then, my friend Dave Kowalka walked in.
“What’s that?” he asked, gesturing toward my little sign.
“Oh nothing,” I responded, turning it face down on the table. “I just ran out of blank pages in my journal and the server brought me this to write on.”
Dave and I sat there swapping stories for a good half-hour. In that time, five or six people stopped by, said hello to Dave, and exchanged pleasantries with him — and totally ignored me.
Then Dave glanced at a nonexistent watch on his wrist and said, “Oh my, I’m almost late for an appointment.”
Off he went, leaving me and my sign at the table.
The server stopped by.
“Would you like a warmup?” she asked.
“Just bring me a cup of Irish coffee,” I responded. “And leave the bottle.”
