Two days ago, I went to the bookstore for more BPD reading material. I have a list I'm marching through. Not interesting. The interesting bit is when I go to check-out. I hand the cashier my book, she does her scanning, and then... she recommends other BPD books that I should read in addition.

My interest is piqued.

I inquire "That's oddly specific knowledge to have. Do you know someone with BPD?"

She begins her story about how her husband's step-sister was diagnosed with it. And how her husband got those books for her to possibly help. She continues her story about how she isn't entirely convinced that's what her in-law has but nevertheless continues to retell me the shenanigans that this girl has gotten into. How this woman had sex at 15 with a 14 year old (and how that's below the age of consent in our state). How this woman has a weed problem....

Here the manager interrupts and has to remove some money from her register. That takes a minute, and all three of us stand in awkward silence because this conversation needs to continue without him there. He leaves.

She starts again. How a couple years ago this woman nearly got her husband arrested for underage sexual relation. How this woman HAS gotten one of her husband's friends for underage relations. How this woman has done so many other things... and I know I've hit a fucking gold mine.

She retells me all this stuff, and all I can do is smile behind my mask, nod my head, and listen with such intense euphoria over this whole interaction. She takes a breath, and I ask "Holy crap. Yeah, that sounds about right. Can I get her number?" She says unfortunately, the girl is married. However, she has a story to tell. 

Another customer wants to check out. I wander the stationary and journals. Wait. And excitedly return, and she's thrilled to tell me more.

We jump back and remark "Well, darn my luck. That's a brave man though." Her story is about how that husband is actually this cashier's cousin. And how the cashier has smashed her cousin's head between a set of metal doors because this cousin has raped another girl because said girl was lesbian. Holy fucking christ, this conversation is awesome.

Another customer wants to check out. This time I look at the goddamn children's books selection they have up front.

We jump back. Now the focus is the cashier herself. About how the other day she flung a chair at someone for being an ass. And I reply "I've never heard of someone getting a chair thrown at them and not deserving it." She laughs and remarks she missed though because she was slightly drunk. And now it's about her relationship. About how her husband wants kids, but she doesn't. And she was mad at earlier in-law because he may have gotten a rep because of her and that wouldn't be good for raising a kid. The cashier doesn't want kids. But she's concerned about her husband's future.

Another customer wants to check out. Blah blah blah

We come back and I fight every goddam instinct I have to not try to get this cashier's number, give her mine, or just flat out ask her out. We have had 20 minutes of non-broken eye-contact, a mutual hate for the counter between us, and we both want to keep talking. I want to try so goddamn much. Fuck if she's married. But I wind down the conversation, because an outside observer knows that this convo is far longer than usual and she's at work. She tacks on she has anxiety and depression. "It's all fun, isn't it?" I reply. She laughs. I vouche for another DBT workbook that I found helpful in case she wants to give it to her step-sister-in-law, and she's like "Hey, sometimes that's where the best recommendations come from." It was the kind of conversational end where it feels more like the universe is tugging people apart instead of them willingly ending it. And I begrudgingly leave the store.

I hate this goddam disorder so fucking much. And this one interaction exemplified that I still have so much to work on.

Asking for her step-sister-in-law's number was a joke. A joke at myself because I've done so many similar things in adolescence. The ages the cashier mentioned seemed almost astrological because I lost my virginity at 15 w/ a 14 year old. It may have been a joke, but I would've been thrilled if she had hinted she could ask.

But that's not all. Once I realized that this convo was going to be more centered on the cashier, my attention was on her. And how my attraction to her kept building up. Red flag. Red flag. Red flag. Those are my favorite kind of flags. How did she know? Oh, going to mention how the foundation of your marriage has a few cracks in it? Oh, tell me more.

I'm still tempted to go back and finally register for that customer rewards program. Just so she CAN have my number and email and name. Because.... you know... that marriage isn't going to last. And I learned more about that cashier in 20 minutes than I have about some of my exes in a month of dating. And I've been single for 3 months, which is a goddam eternity. Was it her or was it her attention that I wanted?

And then I'm doubtful that it was flirting. Maybe she was attention starved and didn't know what to do with my undivided attention other than let everything out. Maybe she went home feeling guilty about the whole exchange and realized her relationship is rockier than she imagined.

And this is how much I'm obsessing over a conversation with a stranger in a bookstore. Fuck.

But... I would like to know more about her without it directly eroding her marriage. And you know what... maybe even if it did erode her marriage a little bit. Most of them end up in divorce anyhow. I'll cool down though. There's more books on my to-buy list.