Tech Support Girl

I’m in a booth at a trade show or convention, back behind the curtains where the staff hang out. The hustle and noise of whatever business is being promoted here is close by but dim and quiet. There are five or six of us back here, with several computers and plasma screens to monitor and control what is happening up in the main part of the booth.

I’ve been having some trouble using one of the computers to buy some tickets to a museum seminar. The tech support girl has come by to fix the problem, and she is doing it while sitting on my lap. She shifts around, not uncomfortable but always moving, bouncing, straddling my thighs and leaning back against my chest. When she takes her hand off the mouse she rests it on mine, and our fingers interlace. Her long brown hair is pressed against my face. I think her name is Melissa.

She gets up to finish fixing the computer, and I turn to talk to her friend, the one with the soft Midwestern accent. The friend likes my hair, but she also knows a hairdresser with a booth at the convention, who will style my hair for free. I am genuinely excited by the idea. But Melissa’s about to leave and I have to go follow. I feel the reassuring shape and weight of my mobile phone in my pocket, a constant friend, soon to hold her number.