I’m alive, dear readers. Rest assured, my absence from posting yesterday had more to do with fatigue and crankiness than it did with my potential client kidnapping me and holding me for ransom.

I should start at the beginning, as in, trying to make it to the damn meeting in the first place. He (lets just call him Bob) and I agreed to meet at a Starbucks close to the subway line. Even though he offered me a lift if I needed it, I let him know the subway would serve me just fine and dandy. Of course, things never pan out the way I hope.

I decided I’d hop on the streetcar to get me to the one subway line and then transfer to the next. One, two, three streetcars all went passed, all too full to let on any other passengers. Natalie was with me as she was on her way to pilates class. “Do you want to cab it to the subway?” I asked, frustrated that I was already running late and I was only on the first part of my journey.

Natalie agreed and off we went, hoping that things on the subway would go a bit more smoothly. Again, I should have known better. We got into the station and saw that there was a huge crowd coming up from the platform we were headed to. We heard some people ahead of us say that there’d been a delay and thus, the backlog of people. Natalie and I pushed through the sea of people and ended up on the platform. One train pulled into the station and a large part of the crowd in front of us got on. Natalie and I moved forward hopeful that we’d be able to get on the next train.

When the next subway did pull up, it was too full to let on very many people so Natalie and I were left behind again. We both watched as this one woman squeezed herself through the subway doors. I didn’t think she’d be able to fit as most of her coat and bag kept getting caught in the doors. We yelled that she should just get off since she was holding up the train, but she managed to get all of herself into the car long enough to have the doors close.

At 5:30, the time I was supposed to be meeting Bob, I was stuck on the busy platform hoping the next train would have enough room to accommodate Natalie and I. When it did pull up, we rushed in, eager not to be left behind yet again. We managed to get in, but we also managed to be doing the bumpity bump with the other passengers on the car. “If I kiss someone, it’s totally an accident,” I announced to those around me.

At some point, three gay guys ended up standing beside and behind me. (And before anyone asks how I knew they were gay, I just did. I’m a homo, we’re family, I think I can tell three queers when I see them.) One of the guys was leaning right against me and all I could feel was this immense heat his leg was releasing onto me.  “This guy’s leg is hot!” I kept saying to Natalie. She found it funny so I kept saying it. “This guy’s leg is hot!”

After pulling into a station, Mr. Hot Leg exited the train and one of his friends took his place next to me. “That guy’s leg was hot!” I let his friend know.

“Oh honey,” the friend drawled, “it’s not just his leg that’s hot.”

I almost shouted, “No need to let me know, he’s really not my type.” But then I remembered I haven’t yet told Natalie about being a ‘mo so I kept my trap shut.

When the train pulled into the station Natalie and I both needed, we unglued ourselves from our fellow passengers and exited the train. I figured the worst of the commute was over. I was wrong. Again.

The crowd at that station was even bigger then the first station we had been at. “Oh shit,” I groaned. “I’m never going to make it there.” Natalie and I parted ways as she was heading up to street level. I ventured over to the pay phones and called Bob. He was already at the Starbucks and so I filled him in on my predicament. I hung up and then moved towards the crowd and followed it down to the platform. Three trains later, I was on my way, just as tightly packed as I’d been on the previous trip.

At ten after six, I was walking through the doors of the Starbucks. When I heard Bob’s voice on the phone, I thought I heard a bit of a gay pitch to it. Maybe it was just the guy from the train’s voice resonating in my head, it’s not just his leg that’s hot. I approached this youngish looking guy seated at the back of the coffee shop and asked him if he was Bob. He said he wasn’t. I looked around and didn’t see anyone who looked like they were looking for anyone.

I thought for a minute that maybe Bob left so I called him. “Are you still at the Starbucks?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

“What’s the address of the one you’re at?” I asked him. He asked someone there and it turned out he was at the wrong ‘bucks. He said he would come over to where I was so while I waited I bought a cookie and a green tea for a small fortune.

A few minutes later, a very tall and enthusiastic black man walked through the door, accompanied by an attractive black woman. We introduced ourselves and then situated ourselves at a larger table. Bob told me about the site they want built: it’s a Christian site where they hope to sell items to raise funds for developing countries in Africa.

The design stuff we discussed was all doable for me. There was only one item on their list that had me second guessing whether I should take on the project: they want a shopping cart. While I can use JavaScript to build the front end of things, it’s the server side stuff that I’m a total novice at. Not to mention, having to find a bank to help Bob and his folks process the payments they’d receive.

I told Bob and his companion (who’s name escapes me) that I’d look into the shopping cart stuff and get back to them by Friday. “What is your tariff?” Bob asked me.

“Let’s see how much work the shopping cart stuff is going to be,” I said. “Let me look over everything and do some research online and I’ll get back to you.”

(In case anyone’s wondering, at no point did I tell my new Christian contacts that I’m a lady-lovin’ homo.)

I left the meeting a bit disappointed in myself. I thought I’d be able to take them on as a client, do a nice web site for them and start building a portfolio for myself. Yet, the technicality involved with building a shopping cart was holding me back.

I did some research last night and today and found that I could probably use PayPal for all of the shopping cart stuff. Even if I have to code the front end, I could use PayPal to ensure that all transactions were secure and processed properly.

I need to have a more thorough look at the PayPal stuff. I don’t want to agree to this project  unless I’m confident that I can deliver. As for whether I want to take on some hardcore Christian people as clients is another matter. “You’d be helping to give a voice to the people!” Bob enthusiastically told me last night. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“You’re always going to have clients that you won’t agree with,” S told me earlier. “Unless they creep you out, then don’t do it. But if you won’t mind working with them and meeting with them, then there’s no reason not to.”

I think tomorrow will be a day for research and reflection. Decisions, decisions.

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