In taking a break from my adventures in dog-sitting, I decided to meet up with our darling little Erika over at the Vagabond for Shake.
Being that I am the early bird that never gets the worm, I made it there like at 10:30, at which poin there are like -10 people there. I walked in with the phone to my ear (thanks, Erika) to avoid any stares or to avoid looking like a total loner who goes to clubs alone (NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT). I sat down in one of the couches (although I did consider standing in the middle of the dance floor and looking super fly)(....).
When this very dapper young man comes up to me and asks me "Not to do that."
A little bit confused and a little bit taken aback by his obvious dislike for showering or deodorants, I managed to say, "huh? do what?"
He looked at me like I was from another planet and he said, "Just don't do that."
Now, I have no idea what I was doing but obviously it was very menacing. I mean this guy looked like he was really shaken up by whatever preposterous act I was committing.
I sit back down and in order to avoid any second form of communication with this fine, not at all creepy young man (SARCASM ALERT) and I pull out my phone and start to maniacally text. Anyone that knows me knows that I don't have a plethora of people to text mostly because I'm an obnoxious pain in the ass that people can't stand. So I text Erika. I'm begging for her to be my Jesus and save me.
There's only so much I can text so I put my phone down and (lucky me) there he comes again. He points at the couch I'm sitting on (I'm guessing asking if anybody is sitting there)(the couch is completely empty except for me). I look at him like I have just spotted an animal that is supposed to be extinct. I'm confused and a little scared. He sits down next to me and his lovely odor of 5 days no shower no deodorant hits me. Nice.
He sits down next to me and right away he looks annoyed with me. Probably because I was doing whatever it was he didn't want me to do.
He asks me where I'm from.
"Miami." I'm trying my hardest not to breathe through my nose.
He rolls his eyes and looks annoyed. "Right, but your family?"
"Cuban".
He shakes his head. He looks REALLY annoyed.
"So what do you do?"
I hate explaining what i do. Hate it. Especially in a noisy club.
"Office Manager." I have perfected the two words or less answer.
He rolls his eyes. Again.
Starts moving his hands in a really weird way. I'm starting to think he's escaped a mental institution.
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
I can't even lie at this point. "No."
"Do you want a drink?"
"I don't drink." Still trying not to breathe through my nose. He looks at me like I'm a scumbag. He looks away.
I'm a little scared for my life. I have the feeling he's going to follow me home and kill me. And not in a sexy way.
In a really scary, creepy way.
He pulls out a carton of cigarettes and asks me if I want one. "No."
I'm actually thankful for the cigarette smoking hovering all over me because it kinda/sorta eliminates the stench exuding from his arm pitts.
Kinda/sorta but not really.
He starts to mumble.
"Mumble, mumble,mumble, yadda. yadda, yadda."
In an attempt to stop his pointless mumbling I ask him what he does.
He looks at me all cool and says, "I don't have a job."
Nice.
(Men, seriously, if you meet a girl at a club and you're trying to sleep with her/date her/chop her up/pimp her out/sell her body parts in order to get medicine for your momma do NOT ever tell her that you don't have a job. Freelance writer works just fine.)
I'm pretty sure at this point this guy collects SSI or SSA (i forget which is the one that the crazies get).
Excellent news.
I ask him, "How old are you?"
He says,"31, like it's none of my business and rolls his eyes. AGAIN. (I am not kidding)
He looks like he's had enough of my conversation. He says, "It was nice meeting you," shakes my hand for what seems to be an eternity and tells me his name is Craig or Greg or something that rhymes with Egg.
A couple of minutes later Erika comes in and I give her a recap of my prince charming on the white horse with B.O.
I point him out and she says, "I love that his pants are really far up his ass."
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2 comments:
So what was it that you "weren't supposed to do"? Don't shower? Don't have an occupation? Don't turn down his carton of smokes? The suspense is killing me!
That makes two of us.
The suspense is killing me, too because he never let me in on what I was doing wrong.In retrospect, though, it makes sense that he would be talking about showering.
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