Hands-On Approach

I was standing at the counter of Native Foods, waiting for my salad to be delivered, minding my own business. I feel something brush my posterior region. It's quick, but thorough. I turn, thinking that I was assaulted by a low-hanging purse of a passerby. I see a family walking away, but the mother (with her purse) is on the far side of the group. The member closest to me a twelve year-old boy, resolutely looking every direction but at me. His hand was still open and pointed towards me like it was the Millenium Falcon struggling to free itself from the tractor beam of my butt.

Why do these things happen? Is it because it's there, and through no fault of mine, "asking for it?"

By the way, remind me to never use the Death Star analogy again.

Do You Have a Permit for That?

Dear Building Inspector,

Do you not understand that I can see you when you look me up and down? We were talking and making eye contact right before. Remember?

Pretty sure buildings are the only thing you're paid to inspect.

Sincerely,
Danie

Right Up Your Alley

I hate bowling. Bowling shoes should be enough reason for me to love the sport, but I hate bowling balls with a fiery passion. The ones that fit my fingers are intended for incredibly small children, and the ones that are heavy enough inevitably wind up being hurled backwards toward my lane-mates. True story. Sorry, Carla.

So when I was told earlier this year that my good friend's going-away party was being held at a bowling alley, I balked. I promised myself I wouldn't bowl. Of course, I was badgered into it by the lovely and talented Trisha.

Between my pathetic attempts at hitting at least one pin and avoiding maiming any of my friends, I chose to lean against the counter to talk with the rest of the group. Due to the loudness of the bowling alley, this required a little bit of bending in order to be on their level to hear them.

Midway through one particular conversation, my Spidey senses tingled. I turned and saw a man one lane over leaning back in his chair, hands laced behind his head. His gaze was roughly at butt-height.

His head-to-toe inspection would've been successful if I hadn't turned around halfway through and rudely interrupted. In spite of this, he decided to continue the view all the way up to my "really?!" face.

I didn't appreciate his approach.

Charitable Donation

As I approach my friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart I see a little table set up with a cardboard science fair display. There's a man standing there with a bucket of change talking on his phone. He sees me and does a double take. I lower my gaze and forge ahead, hoping that the phone will occupy him.

It doesn't.

He pulls the phone away from his ear and undulates. "How *you* doin?"
I don't respond and keep walking.
"God bless you, girl!"

Upon my exit, I know he'll still be there. He asks if I have any change for disaster relief. I don't have any cash.

I'm walking away, which doesn't faze him in the least. "You know what? I love you anyway. And God blesses you. You know why? You beautiful. You got a crisis in yo life?"

This forces me to stop and turn. "No. Not really."

He brings his hand to his heart and shakes his head soulfully. "You will. Just stay beautiful. God bless you."

I thank him and run.

Seriously? I can see you.

Today while walking through the parking lot of my neighborhood Trader Joes I saw a man look me up and down from behind his sunglasses. I turned and gave him a scowl but he continued in his persistent gaze. I held up my pointer finger at him and said, "Sir, this is not for you."

His mouth fell open and he walked away.

Don't Bug Me

Imagine for a moment that you are on a lovely camping trip. You're enjoying a cup of coffee by the campfire with your family and best friends, when your eleven year old daughter comes tearing through the trees. She's screaming her head off and near sobbing. You spring from your chair and do a quick visual analysis: she has all of her limbs and there's no blood. You ask her what's wrong and she sobs:

"A june bug tried to french kiss me!!!"

Sorry, mom.

That's why I hate june bugs.

Nice Rhythm Section.

During a dance with a good friend I stopped on a nice, solid break in the music. He blithely danced through it, then laughed and shook his head.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I was too busy watching your body."

Um... what?

That's what she said?

Today at Flamebroiler I was pumping "Magic Sauce" into a tiny container for my co-worker's chicken bowl. A man sidled up next to me and waited patiently as I struggled with the giant bottle and its awkward handle. He gestured at the pump and said, "I like the long ones. They're easier to handle."

I flinched and Magic Sauce sprayed everywhere.

Wingardium Creepiosa!

Today a man told me my boba looked delicious. This would be perfectly okay except:

1. He looked like Harry Potter all grown up.
2. A good friend explained to me that boba means "dominant breast" as in "big breast".

My 14 year-old self would've died happy because of this.

He's BaaAAAAaaaaack

Remember this guy?

Yeah, he called again today. "No, you remember me," he insisted. "We laughed about how you and my first girlfriend have the same name."

Uh, sir? You were the only one laughing. I was vaguely uncomfortable the entire conversation.

Also, when you call customer service, maybe you should have an reason to call. Thank you.

Damsel in Distress

I understand that I was wearing a dress on the side of the road. But I would had appreciated it if you didn't wolf-whistle as I was exchanging insurance information.

Customer Disservice

Today we bring you Adventures in Customer Service!


Customer: "What's your name?"
Me: "Danielle."
Customer: "Danielle? That's my first girlfriend's name! We were in orchestra together. She played cello and I played bassoon."
Me: "…"

Please don't say anything about a vibrating box.

Gym Confidential, Part 1

Sir, I don't care about the number of pull-ups you can do in under a minute. They don't distract from the fact that you spend an hour prowling around my treadmill.

Going to the Chick Fil A of Love

It all started on a lovely day in March. I needed sweet tea and waffle fries. I needed them BAD.

I walk in to my neighborhood Chick Fil A, expecting a nice, uneventful dinner. I had a book to read, and some waffle fries to eat. I place my order with the effervescent checker, who becomes even more sparkly when I respond to his banter. Word to the wise, when a man asks you if you like sweet tea, never respond with "It makes life worth living."

I find a spot in the middle of the restaurant, and wait for my number to be called. Imagine my surprise when my meal is personally delivered by Mr. Bubbly. He sets down my tray and grins. I smile back. Encouraged by my general friendliness and acknowledgement that he's a fellow human being, he draws close and whispers delicately, "Uhm, can I have yo number, Danielle?"

Whether he doesn't see that I was reading "It's Called a Breakup Because It's Broken", or chooses to view it as a flashing THIS GIRL IS HURTING AND NEEDS SOME LOVIN' sign, we'll never know.

I freeze, my mouth open in shock. My deer-in-the-headlights face is in perfect form. He shakes it off and walks away, mumbling something along the lines of, "S'all right, girl." I recover my wits too late and he's already gone.

About halfway through my meal he sneaks up to me and asks if I would like a refill. I smile nervously and nod.

Oh, crap! What if he does something to my sweet tea?! But it's too late. He's already halfway across the restaurant, my poor defenseless beverage in tow. Everything is in slow motion, like a bad horror movie. Luckily his beverage intentions were pure.

I try to sneak out when I finish eating, but he's too quick. "I'll see you next time, Danielle!" Eff. I never went inside that restaurant again.

Don't drink it

The time? March 2, 2011. The place? Trader Joe's. After an almost-collision with a stock boy:

Me: Sorry, I wasn't trying to get all up in your kool-aid.
Him: It's okay, we got plenty of kool-aid.

Sometimes I'm the creeper.

I will save thee!

Taking a picture at the DMV.

The camera bulb flashed and I flinched.

I glanced at the screen in dismay. "I look terrible."

The man looked bewildered. "No, you look like a Renaissance Princess."

It's a Missed Connection...

Missed Connection - M4F

"You, tiny brunette walking a tinier dog. Me, reserved Asian guy walking a Maltese. Our eyes met as our dogs crapped in the same stretch of grass. At least, I think they did. It was hard to tell through your giant sunglasses."

I'm allergic

In line in a grocery store: "So, you like sandwiches?"

NO.

Girrrrrrrrrrl

Sitting outside LindyGroove, sometime in 2009: "Girl, you cold? I'll keep you warm!"

Sir, it's 80 degrees and I was just dancing.

Rawr

5/18/11 "You're like a velociraptor. A very, very pretty one."

HOLY CRAP I THINK I'M IN LOVE.