So I got off of work early today and opted to take the bus home. Sitting to my right was a nice couple. They were snuggled close together, and whispering to eachother. It was kinda cute. When the bus made a stop at a nursing home, the woman stood and I noted that she was wearing a smock. She kissed her boyfriend and got out of the bus. The whole while, mind you, i’m sitting cross armed and leaning against the window. Maybe two or three stops later, the guy leans toward me.
“Excuse me, miss.”
“Yes?”
“mumble mumble mumble”
I swear I couldn’t understand anything he was saying. He was moving his hands and gesturing as though he were saying something important. Is he asking me for money? I thought. Maybe directions on how to get somewhere… I had no idea, so I leaned in a bit.
“Pardon?”
“Ahem, I said…may I ask how old you are?”
“Huh?” obviously i’m thrown for a loop a bit.
“How old are you?”
“I’m 25″
“mlaksdfj from alksd here?”
“Huh?”
“Are you from around here?”
“No, California.”
“OOOhhhh, asldk dislie”
“What?”
“I said that’s interesting.”
No freaking way is this man, who about 10 mins ago was nearly making out with his girlfriend virtually right next to me, actually has the audacity to hit on me! And THEN:
“dOalsdj slakdf onoe?”
“Sorry?”
“I said are you currently involved with anyone?”
“I’m married”
Then he gives me a high five, yelling “Alright girl!”
and then NOTHING was said for the next 25 mins.
aaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwkkkkkkwwwwaaaaaarrrrrrrddddddddd….
If you’re a dude, you should NEVER hit on girls on the bus. It basically registers to her that you’re a broke ass with no car. And THEN, if you do intend on cheating on your girlfriend, at least have the mild decency to keep the two mutually exclusive. Also, make sure that your teeth are brushed. I think though, for the sake of this story, the most important lesson is this: If you’re going to hit on someone on a bus, at least have the confidence to talk over the engine. If I can’t hear you over the ’stop requested’ bell, then I’m gonna think you’re a giant pussy.
I have way too many weird creeper stories. (sidenote: creepers, in Ariana’s Dictionary of Important Words to Know Allthetime, are typically male individuals who weird you out. Typical antics include staring you in the eyes for way too long, asking personal questions, following you around, staring at you until they have to turn their entire bodies, staring with a foggy somewhat intoxicated wash in their eyes, wanting to sit near you, winking, smirking, licking their lips, or all of the above simutaneously. That was a really long sidenote…sorry) One of my favourite creeper stories took place at Panera Bread in downtown Savannah. It was about 9am, and I was sitting at a window table enjoying a chai tea latte and reading a bit before work. You’re probably familiar with that crawling stinging feeling you get when a creeper has spotted you. That feeling of being watched. I was pretty overwhelmed by that sensation very randomly, and when I glanced out of the window, there was a very dingy and morethanlikely homeless man staring right at me. He immediately smiled and WAVED (yes. waving black man. I’ll never forget it) and started making his way INTO THE RESTARAUNT. I was mortifiedl, but I’m also a complete push over. Upon doctors inspection, I’ve actually been diagnosed with having absolutely no spine. The man walked right up to my table, and at that point I realized that he was caring a little canvas bag. He then proceeded to tell me how pretty I am (which, no matter how creepy you are, it’s always nice to be reminded *flings hair*), and then proceeds to sell me bootleged movies. When i adamantly refused the “New Notorius BIG Movie” that had just been released in theaters two days before, he then decided to GIVE it to me, free of charge. He then wrote his name and phone number on the dvd sleeve, and told me that if I ever need anything at all, to give him a call.
Thanks, but I intend on being somewhat successful and respected in life, and I can’t have anything illegal on my record…like intentionally buying stolen goods from creepy men, for instance. Especially creepy men in dingy black tshirts with little moth holes. Unless you can get your hands on imported Italian Muscato or Tetes de moines cheese. Then I may just keep your number in my cell. Just in case. File under “creeper”.
My favourite creeper of all time definately has to be the one who inadvertantly convinced me that investing in pepper spray is probably a good idea. I was sitting at starbucks (appropriately, the one right across from the above mentioned Panera bread) minding my own business drinking coffee (duh) when all of the sudden this man walks in and sits right across from me. Mind you, the tables are itty bitty, so he may as well have been sitting next to me. He asked my name, where i’m from, etc. I told him nothing. He then told me that I have beautiful skin, and then REACHED across the table to touch my hand. Now, when he moved, his clothes shifted a bit, and I caught a very distinct scent of fecal matter.
like….fecal matter.
poop. He smelled like poop. Like he shit his pants. he smelled like poop.
So i decided then and there that I was going to just be at work half an hour early and that’s that. He then asked me where I worked, and I said “On broughton street” and he asked where, and I said “a shop” (there are at least a hundred) and he said this:
“Well I’ll have to come find you then, and see you.” and then he winked. I was standing by then, and i said “No thanks.” and grabbed my stuff and made my way to the door, simutaneously texting my boyfriend to come walk me to work because this guy was freaking me out. When I turned around, he was standing up too, and following after me. I got out to the street, and when i looked back, he was making his way out of the starbucks, smiling at me. I crossed the street and met up with my boyfriend, and when I checked again , the creeper had disappeared.
As I’m typing this, i’m looking at my keychain, which harbors a pink Breast Cancer Awareness line of Pepper Spray that I purchased literally two days after the incident.
So with all of this said, I feel it’s very necessaryto add that I’m not a morbidly vivacious sex machine bootylicious goddess walking down the street provoking men to want to take their pants off and pounce me. I’m usually wearing jeans and a tshirt and absolutely no makeup. Half the time I have work related stains on my shirt. The other half of the time it’s coffee stains or food stains. I’m nothing special.
Perhaps the only criteria is owning boobs?
