Thoughtses
On receiving male attention -
Every morning I park my car near my workplace, walk two blocks to a cafe, and walk back with my large black coffee with two Splendas. Every morning I pass the same two older gents, who sit outside the Please-U Restaurant and grin at me. "Mornin', princess," they'll say. Or, "How you doin', sweetheart?"
I smile and say, "How're y'all?" or "Fine, thank you," and if they whistle as I walk away, I don't really mind. I've never understood why they'd flirt with a girl who will never flirt back, but hey, it's harmless.
Yesterday morning I walked past the SpeeDee oil change, and a man who worked there - fifties, overweight, a little scruffy - came out to the sidewalk and said, "I see you walk by every morning. You live around here?" I said I worked across the street, just going for breakfast, nice to meet you, sir. He said his name was Jody and he'd take me next door for coffee this morning.
"No, thank you" would have been well within my rights, and I was probably an idiot not to say it. But I was raised to be a "nice girl," and I've never been able to shake the tendency to accommodate and defer to people older than myself - especially men. Plus, I was curious. Why the hell would this guy want to buy me coffee? He couldn't think I was interested in him. Maybe I reminded him of his daughter or something?
We went to the Please-U, which is a hole-in-the-wall diner in the grand tradition of hole-in-the-wall diners. The food is old school and greasy enough to cure a hangover. The coffee is strong, hot, and endlessly refilled for $1.25. It's my dad's kind of place - or the Winchesters'.
We sat in a red vinyl booth, and it turned out Jody used to exercise racehorses at the Fairgrounds, and I knew a little about showjumping, and you can make pleasant small talk out of that. He said the riding was before he put on all this weight, and now he'd probably break the horse's back. Shame, he made more money working with the horses than he does now with cars. A little while later, he pawed at his graying beard and said, "Shoulda shaved today. I look old." And eventually some clumsy jokes made it apparent that he really wouldn't mind seeing me naked.
Ah. That's what was going on here. The boring and obvious explanation prevails.
I excused myself to go to work and thanked him for the coffee, saying nothing whatsoever to his vague, "We should do this again sometime." I couldn't imagine how he thought I'd respond, but hey - points for trying, I guess.
"You are scarily, dangerously nice," my roommate said last night when I told her the story. "A guy could walk up and rape you, and you'd just be like, 'Oh, um, excuse me, I'd really rather you didn't.' I mean, what the fuck, Duckie?!"
What the fuck, indeed.
Well, the dude as good as told me what the fuck. He might as well have handed me a flyer reading: "Hello, I'm Jody. I am deeply insecure, partly due to my weight gain, but mostly because I'm past fifty and going gray and not nearly as financially secure as I expected to be at this point in my life. In fact, I feel like a total loser, and it would be nice if a twenty-year-old redhead would agree to have coffee with me."
So now he can say she did. I hope he feels better, and that he never asks again.
Every morning I park my car near my workplace, walk two blocks to a cafe, and walk back with my large black coffee with two Splendas. Every morning I pass the same two older gents, who sit outside the Please-U Restaurant and grin at me. "Mornin', princess," they'll say. Or, "How you doin', sweetheart?"
I smile and say, "How're y'all?" or "Fine, thank you," and if they whistle as I walk away, I don't really mind. I've never understood why they'd flirt with a girl who will never flirt back, but hey, it's harmless.
Yesterday morning I walked past the SpeeDee oil change, and a man who worked there - fifties, overweight, a little scruffy - came out to the sidewalk and said, "I see you walk by every morning. You live around here?" I said I worked across the street, just going for breakfast, nice to meet you, sir. He said his name was Jody and he'd take me next door for coffee this morning.
"No, thank you" would have been well within my rights, and I was probably an idiot not to say it. But I was raised to be a "nice girl," and I've never been able to shake the tendency to accommodate and defer to people older than myself - especially men. Plus, I was curious. Why the hell would this guy want to buy me coffee? He couldn't think I was interested in him. Maybe I reminded him of his daughter or something?
We went to the Please-U, which is a hole-in-the-wall diner in the grand tradition of hole-in-the-wall diners. The food is old school and greasy enough to cure a hangover. The coffee is strong, hot, and endlessly refilled for $1.25. It's my dad's kind of place - or the Winchesters'.
We sat in a red vinyl booth, and it turned out Jody used to exercise racehorses at the Fairgrounds, and I knew a little about showjumping, and you can make pleasant small talk out of that. He said the riding was before he put on all this weight, and now he'd probably break the horse's back. Shame, he made more money working with the horses than he does now with cars. A little while later, he pawed at his graying beard and said, "Shoulda shaved today. I look old." And eventually some clumsy jokes made it apparent that he really wouldn't mind seeing me naked.
Ah. That's what was going on here. The boring and obvious explanation prevails.
I excused myself to go to work and thanked him for the coffee, saying nothing whatsoever to his vague, "We should do this again sometime." I couldn't imagine how he thought I'd respond, but hey - points for trying, I guess.
"You are scarily, dangerously nice," my roommate said last night when I told her the story. "A guy could walk up and rape you, and you'd just be like, 'Oh, um, excuse me, I'd really rather you didn't.' I mean, what the fuck, Duckie?!"
What the fuck, indeed.
Well, the dude as good as told me what the fuck. He might as well have handed me a flyer reading: "Hello, I'm Jody. I am deeply insecure, partly due to my weight gain, but mostly because I'm past fifty and going gray and not nearly as financially secure as I expected to be at this point in my life. In fact, I feel like a total loser, and it would be nice if a twenty-year-old redhead would agree to have coffee with me."
So now he can say she did. I hope he feels better, and that he never asks again.