Today, in the course of doing my job, I met with someone who, aside from the modern rain jacket, looked like he had stepped out of the 1890s.
Round, wire-framed glasses. A bow tie. (Yes, a bow tie. Not cool unless you are 70, or Dr. Who.) And a moustache that twirled into curlicues on the end. (Note: this is the first time in my life I have written/typed the word "curlicue.")
OK, you're thinking he might just be a hipster (he was in his early 20s, is my guess.)
He talked like he was from 1891, too. A pretentious 1891.
"And now, we will go to the aforementioned meeting space."
He used the word "aforementioned" in the next sentence, too. Mind you, nothing was actually aforementioned. I booked the room over email. Afore-typed? Afore-emailed?
Trying to make small talk, because he was otherwise dead silent, I asked him if he had always been in this line of work.
"I had other positions before this, but nothing consequential."
What the fuck? I wanted to look at him and say, "Who the hell TALKS THAT WAY?"
More than anything, I wanted to know what he used to hold the curlicues in place.
Do they make moustache wax these days? Inquiring minds want to know.
I told the volunteer at work about it. She said years ago, she was working with someone who changed his hair color every week to a different hue of neon. Once, she asked him precisely what shade he used.
"That's rude!" snapped another co-worker.
"I wouldn't do it if I didn't want people to notice it," he replied.
Which makes me wonder. Was I allowed to stare at the barbershop quartet moustache?
Or was I supposed to?
Would you have said anything?