I always respond to people talking into their bluetooths (blueteeth?). It doesn't matter to me in the least that this person is a complete stranger. Apparently, I just assume everyone, even strangers, feel the need to speak with me.
Me: "Clearly, when God made me, he was showing off" (I don't really feel this way but based on the frequency of these incidents in my day to day life, some part of me really does believe this.)
|WHAT A DOUCHE|
This particular incident occurred a few weeks ago and backs my theory that complete strangers really DO feel the need to speak with me.
Me: "Well, here I am. What were your other two wishes?" (I don't really believe this about myself but sometimes, when I reflect on past events, I wonder.)
I'm in the grocery store and luckily I have not been distracted by any bluetooth shoppers. An older lady walks up to me. (She wasn't old. Just older than me and I enjoy pointing that out, whenever possible.)
Older Lady: "Hi, Laura! (big hug). I haven't seen you in forever! (cheek kisses). You have really changed."
Me: "Um, I'm not Laura."
Older Lady: "What? Oh my goodness, you even changed your name!"
Me: "Did the voices in your head tell you to come talk to me?" (I didn't say that to her. I didn't say anything. I just started to back away instead. I mean, she seemed like a nice enough person. She was kind of like a candy bar: half sweet / half nuts.)
|I'LL ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU FONDLY, MADGE|
This is normal for me. Strangers really DO want to talk to me. That lady wasn't crazy. She was just an unsuspecting pawn in the stranger / me circle. Her being off her "meds" only made her more susceptible than most, that's all.
The drunken guy trying to get lucky at a table full of women. This scenario is pretty common and I would imagine it is an international phenomenon, transcending borders more fluidly than a pandemic originating at the Olympics.
In my world, the guy would sway over to our table, ogling us with his bloodshot eyes, not in a "you're looking fine" kind of way but more in a "you'll do" kind of way and begin whatever jumbled pick up line he would be able to string together in his pickled brain.
His eyes would connect with mine and he would say, "When I saw you from across the room, I stumbled and hit my head on the bar...so I'm going to need your information for insurance reasons."
With my luck, he would turn out to be an attorney during his more lucid phases so I scramble for a solution. Maybe this is his way of getting lucky but it won't work on me ("I'm a married woman", I say in
Me: "Come on, Tracy. Just look at him. He MUST have a nice personality and you know, at this time of night, handsome is only a light switch away."
Surprisingly, she didn't go for it.
|LADIES, ALL THIS COULD BE YOURS FOR ONE LOW, LOW PRICE|