When it comes to car maintenance, I’m not the most efficient nor the most proactive gal around. This is something I need to work on. Are you happy? I’ve acknowledged it with my tail between my knees.
Need an example of my car maintenance procrastination? Until last Thursday, my windshield wipers were in a state of utter desperation. Sadly, they had been in that state for quite some time. The rubber blade on my driver’s side wiper had become completely detached except for a two inch section on the far left side. That two inches was enough just to keep the blade hanging, but every time I’d turn the wipers on, it would waggle (yes, waggle) and flap around the windshield; thus doing absolutely no good in the way of clearing rain from my field of vision. The only reason I got away with waiting so long to replace the faulty blade was because I use Rain-X fairly regularly. Anyway…it was sad and irresponsible and dangerous. And, worst of all, it only added to the already-semi-ghetto appearance of my little blue Saturn.
Along with the torrential downpours that plagued the city last week came my increased awareness that I needed to get off my ass and do something about my windshield wipers. My friend Marisa and I headed to Wal-Mart to get the job done. Most people could have purchased the wipers themselves and put them on without too much effort. I, however, managed to select the appropriate replacements, but needed assistance in the execution. There was a long line in the automotive department, so I asked a salesperson about the possibility of getting the help I needed. A mechanic by the name of Walter came up and cheerily offered to assist me. Not only would he attach my wipers, free of charge, he would also replace my brake light. Well, how nice!! We were quite pleased with his helpfulness and pleasant disposition. Who says you can’t get good service anymore?
After Walter completed his work, he asked if we would take him out for a beer when he finished his shift…to show our gratitude for his help. We assumed he was kidding, so we audibly…clearly… laughed him off and said something to the effect of “Maybe some other time, Walter.” And we went our separate ways. You would think that our response would have been enough to dampen his pride for the rest of the night.
I had forgotten all about Walter in the midst of my grocery shopping, and did not think of him again until Marisa and I were loading our purchases into my trunk. Walter, still on the job in the automotive department, spotted us and called out. “Something something about getting a drink!!??” was all I could make out. I looked at him, confused. He made his way towards us and shouted again. “We goin out for a drink, or what? You buyin me a beer?”
I just so happened to have bought a six pack of Dos Equis, and…again…still assuming that Walter is a harmless, joking kind of fellow, I pick one up and hold it out towards him. “Sure, you can have a beer,” Marisa said in her typical jovial and giggling voice. He had reached my car by this time, and suddenly shot us both an offended glare.
(Voice notably raised in irritation…) “No, seriously. You ain’t gonna take me out? You ain’t even gonna buy me a 24 ounce Bud?”
“Um….no. You’re welcome to one of these, though.”
Walter, with disgust and anger brewing in his beady little eyes, was almost yelling now. “You mean to tell me that after I took you in front of all those people and helped you out, you ain’t even gonna buy me a beer?” All friendly joking was gone. He was seriously pissed off, which seriously pissed ME off.
Having already placed the beer back in its package, I slammed my trunk closed and looked down at him (Walter was a scrawny, midget son-of-a-bitch.) with the meanest look I could muster. I briefly lectured him in my most growniest grown-up voice that he was doing his job by helping me and nothing more…that I owed him nothing but a “thank you”, if that…and added that he should get back to work and have a good evening while he was at it!! (I’m never as tough as I plan to be in my fantasies.) He continued to stand there, a foot away from my car, pissy and sulking, tiny chest heaving with rage, muttering something under his breath, as I shut the door and put the car in reverse. I should have run his butt over. Loser.
Note: if an attempt to snag a couple of girls by way of some cheap beer at a skanky bar does not seem to be going in your favor, your luck probably won’t improve by trying to convince them that they somehow OWE it to you. And if you’re a Wal-Mart mechanic, you can increase the rate of your likely decline by about 68% per attempt. (If you’re under 5 foot 3, go ahead and add in another 10% incresase.)
Showing posts with label Don't Be a Creepy Guy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Don't Be a Creepy Guy. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Don't Be a Creepy Guy--Part 5
I've received several recent requests for the next installment of the "Creepy Guy" series. I suppose it has been a while since I've done one. (..."done" an entry on creepy guys...not "done" a creepy guy. let me clarify.) The delay is not due to a shortage of encounters. There is, and always will be, plenty of creeps to go around. I just haven't thought to craft any recent encounters into a story. However, as I was watching the local news this morning, I was reminded of an encounter that I failed to report.
Several months ago I was forced to make a t.v. appearance to promote an event that I had planned for my now-former job. This event, by the way, caused me more stress than any other single element has caused me in my entire life. I truly felt that I was going to drop dead from a heart attack before it was all over with. Truly. Alas, I did not drop dead; in case you were wondering. Anyway, I did NOT want to do a t.v. interview, but it was either me or my boss. And, well, in cases such as those, it was always me. It was either that, or lose my job. Oh. Wait. Never mind.
I arrived at the studio early on this particular Saturday morning and attempted to fake my enthusiam for what was ahead. I HATE being filmed...especially on live television. As I walked in I wondered which anchor would be conducting my interview. Our city is not known for its outstanding news personalities. (Similarly, we're also not known for our high quality locally-made commercials.) I soon learned that one of the younger, more attractive; if there were such a category, anchors would be interviewing me. I had not met this one before, and I was immediately struck by his arrogance. It was not only blatant, but also completely unfounded. I couldn't help but wonder if he had done his own makeup that morning, or if there was a staff person specifically charged with the task. His foundation looked awful. Way too orangey for his complexion. His blush was too bright. Had he been wearing fake boobs and high heels, he would have been an ideal queen.
I'm a smart ass most of the time. When it comes to professional situations, however, I'm perfectly able to restrain myself. But there's something about arrogant men that brings it out in me. It doesn't even have to be obvious pomp. I'm like a bloodhound in this respect. If there's something subtle or non-direct that even hints at the scent of peremptoriness, I sniff it out with alarming proficiency. Because I smelled such an odor on this guy, I let several tarty comments slip out during our pre-show discussion. He laughed at something I said, and perhaps my sarcasm excited him, because his tone drastically changed at that point. He softened his eyes and gazed intently at me.
"Are you wearing vanilla?" he asked.
"Yes. I am, actually." I was, indeed.
"Oh my God. That smells so good. You smell delicious, really." (yes. delicious was what he said.)
I played it off. "Yeah. Haha. I always get comments when I wear this stuff." And, I do, by the way.
And then, before I knew it was coming, he smelled my neck. His nose actually touched my neck. Nose to neck. Neck to nose. And he let the nose linger there for several seconds before he pulled away. "Man, you smell good. What is that? Where'd you get it? Is it lotion or perfume? I've gotta get my wife some of that." And then he pulled the classic breast glance. Locked eye contact with me, let his eyes travel slowly downward, and then brought them back up to post-eye contact. We all know the move. Men and women alike. We know the move.
Before I could decide whether or not to respond, our turn was up and we were quickly shooed to our places under the heavy lighting. We were stationed on a fake kitchen set, at a high table with bar stools. I'm pretty sure I had a ceramic rooster behind my head somewhere. The cameras came on. During our interview, while his face was turned towards me and not at the camera, he did the glance several more times. When we went to commercial, he "helped me" undo my mic with a more gentle touch than was necessary. And as I was getting out of my seat, I happened to swing my head in his direction and caught him staring intently at my ass.
All I cared about at that point was that I had made it through the interview without making a complete fool of myself. And, honestly, I could care less who stares at my ass. But it still makes for a good story.
Several months ago I was forced to make a t.v. appearance to promote an event that I had planned for my now-former job. This event, by the way, caused me more stress than any other single element has caused me in my entire life. I truly felt that I was going to drop dead from a heart attack before it was all over with. Truly. Alas, I did not drop dead; in case you were wondering. Anyway, I did NOT want to do a t.v. interview, but it was either me or my boss. And, well, in cases such as those, it was always me. It was either that, or lose my job. Oh. Wait. Never mind.
I arrived at the studio early on this particular Saturday morning and attempted to fake my enthusiam for what was ahead. I HATE being filmed...especially on live television. As I walked in I wondered which anchor would be conducting my interview. Our city is not known for its outstanding news personalities. (Similarly, we're also not known for our high quality locally-made commercials.) I soon learned that one of the younger, more attractive; if there were such a category, anchors would be interviewing me. I had not met this one before, and I was immediately struck by his arrogance. It was not only blatant, but also completely unfounded. I couldn't help but wonder if he had done his own makeup that morning, or if there was a staff person specifically charged with the task. His foundation looked awful. Way too orangey for his complexion. His blush was too bright. Had he been wearing fake boobs and high heels, he would have been an ideal queen.
I'm a smart ass most of the time. When it comes to professional situations, however, I'm perfectly able to restrain myself. But there's something about arrogant men that brings it out in me. It doesn't even have to be obvious pomp. I'm like a bloodhound in this respect. If there's something subtle or non-direct that even hints at the scent of peremptoriness, I sniff it out with alarming proficiency. Because I smelled such an odor on this guy, I let several tarty comments slip out during our pre-show discussion. He laughed at something I said, and perhaps my sarcasm excited him, because his tone drastically changed at that point. He softened his eyes and gazed intently at me.
"Are you wearing vanilla?" he asked.
"Yes. I am, actually." I was, indeed.
"Oh my God. That smells so good. You smell delicious, really." (yes. delicious was what he said.)
I played it off. "Yeah. Haha. I always get comments when I wear this stuff." And, I do, by the way.
And then, before I knew it was coming, he smelled my neck. His nose actually touched my neck. Nose to neck. Neck to nose. And he let the nose linger there for several seconds before he pulled away. "Man, you smell good. What is that? Where'd you get it? Is it lotion or perfume? I've gotta get my wife some of that." And then he pulled the classic breast glance. Locked eye contact with me, let his eyes travel slowly downward, and then brought them back up to post-eye contact. We all know the move. Men and women alike. We know the move.
Before I could decide whether or not to respond, our turn was up and we were quickly shooed to our places under the heavy lighting. We were stationed on a fake kitchen set, at a high table with bar stools. I'm pretty sure I had a ceramic rooster behind my head somewhere. The cameras came on. During our interview, while his face was turned towards me and not at the camera, he did the glance several more times. When we went to commercial, he "helped me" undo my mic with a more gentle touch than was necessary. And as I was getting out of my seat, I happened to swing my head in his direction and caught him staring intently at my ass.
All I cared about at that point was that I had made it through the interview without making a complete fool of myself. And, honestly, I could care less who stares at my ass. But it still makes for a good story.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Don't Be a Creepy Guy--Part 4
Even though I have a new, very-full time job with lots of important, adult responsibilities, I've kept on with my part timer at Victoria's Secret. I know the question that immediately jumps into your head, and, "NO", I can't tell you "the secret". privledged information.
It's a funny thing...working there. I realized pretty quickly that a very bashful person would most likely not feel comfortable working there...or at any lingerie shop. Discussing intimate apparel with strangers can be a little awkward. Bra fittings and inmodest customers who ask you to into their dressing rooms to assist them....breasts flopping and uncovered....again; awkward. But, none of it bothers me. Any professional bra specialist can handle it. Oh, yeah...Volunteer Director by day, Bra Specialist by night, baby. I could have my own T.V. show.
What I AM bothered by are male customers who cross over into inappropriate. Some men will come in alone, handle all the panties, ask us 30 questions and then walk out after an hour without having bought anything. This behavior could very well mean that they were overwhelmed by the selection and left empty-handed due to intimidation and confusion. But I can't help but wonder if some of them do it just to get off. Questions like "What do YOU think is sexy?" or "What size do YOU wear?" or "Would YOU wear this?" make me suspicious. Reasonably so, I think. But I suppose this is to be expected at such a business. We're the free, less taboo version of the 1-900 number. If we served hot wings and fries, we could be the classy Hooters.
The creepiest encounter I've had so far was with a male customer...late 50's. Curly mustache. Dressed in a suit...polite. His questions started off fairly innocent, and he seemed geniunely determined to choose something nice for his wife. I helped him as much as I could, and then left him alone to look. After a while, he came up to me with several pairs of crotchless panties in his hands. He claimed to not understand what they were. So, I told him. "These are crotchless panties". Pretty self explanatory, right? Not so much. He insisted he didn't get it, and continued to ask me what someone would do with such a garment. I attempted to answer his questions with as much tact as possible, and the more I talked, the nastier his grin became. I finally patted him on the arm and assured him he could make his decision without me. He argued a little....wanted me to stay. I heard him whisper my name one last time as I slipped into the detox shower in the store room.
Eewwuuu.
It's a funny thing...working there. I realized pretty quickly that a very bashful person would most likely not feel comfortable working there...or at any lingerie shop. Discussing intimate apparel with strangers can be a little awkward. Bra fittings and inmodest customers who ask you to into their dressing rooms to assist them....breasts flopping and uncovered....again; awkward. But, none of it bothers me. Any professional bra specialist can handle it. Oh, yeah...Volunteer Director by day, Bra Specialist by night, baby. I could have my own T.V. show.
What I AM bothered by are male customers who cross over into inappropriate. Some men will come in alone, handle all the panties, ask us 30 questions and then walk out after an hour without having bought anything. This behavior could very well mean that they were overwhelmed by the selection and left empty-handed due to intimidation and confusion. But I can't help but wonder if some of them do it just to get off. Questions like "What do YOU think is sexy?" or "What size do YOU wear?" or "Would YOU wear this?" make me suspicious. Reasonably so, I think. But I suppose this is to be expected at such a business. We're the free, less taboo version of the 1-900 number. If we served hot wings and fries, we could be the classy Hooters.
The creepiest encounter I've had so far was with a male customer...late 50's. Curly mustache. Dressed in a suit...polite. His questions started off fairly innocent, and he seemed geniunely determined to choose something nice for his wife. I helped him as much as I could, and then left him alone to look. After a while, he came up to me with several pairs of crotchless panties in his hands. He claimed to not understand what they were. So, I told him. "These are crotchless panties". Pretty self explanatory, right? Not so much. He insisted he didn't get it, and continued to ask me what someone would do with such a garment. I attempted to answer his questions with as much tact as possible, and the more I talked, the nastier his grin became. I finally patted him on the arm and assured him he could make his decision without me. He argued a little....wanted me to stay. I heard him whisper my name one last time as I slipped into the detox shower in the store room.
Eewwuuu.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Don't Be a Creepy Guy--Part 3
Sadly, this one took place in a grocery store, too. What is it about refrigerated foods that makes a man innapropriate?
Me: Searching for a selection of chicken. Minding my own business. Wearing a shirt with two large, embroidered stars just above the left breast (my breast...not the chicken's breast).
Him: Mid-forties goob. Standing stationary and alone at the end of an aisle. Strangely unoccupied. Hands in pockets. Staring blankly at me.
Looks intently in the general direction of the stars and says to me, "Are you a super-star, or are you a police deputy?", then breaks into obnoxious laughter.
Me: Feeling awkward as ass...not sure how to respond. "Well, I'm not a deputy...." I hear myself emit an unsure, forced laugh.
The man continues to stare and laugh. I break eye contact as quickly as possible and walk in the other direction....the man still laughing as I break into a run.....
Me: Searching for a selection of chicken. Minding my own business. Wearing a shirt with two large, embroidered stars just above the left breast (my breast...not the chicken's breast).
Him: Mid-forties goob. Standing stationary and alone at the end of an aisle. Strangely unoccupied. Hands in pockets. Staring blankly at me.
Looks intently in the general direction of the stars and says to me, "Are you a super-star, or are you a police deputy?", then breaks into obnoxious laughter.
Me: Feeling awkward as ass...not sure how to respond. "Well, I'm not a deputy...." I hear myself emit an unsure, forced laugh.
The man continues to stare and laugh. I break eye contact as quickly as possible and walk in the other direction....the man still laughing as I break into a run.....
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Don't Be a Creepy Guy--Part Two
I know that you're shocked that I already have another experience from which to post Part Two of this series. Like I said previously, creepy guys are all over the place. This encounter was exaggerative on the creepy side, and (hopefully) would not be duplicated by any male without actual intent of creepiness; but I'm sticking by my word and mission to pass along my knowledge.
I was on my lunch break today walking through a nearby grocery store. I am dressed fairly conservatively...law office appropriate; was in no way attempting to grab anyone's attention. As I strolled through the produce section, I half way noticed a non-descript middle aged man walking towards me. I didn't really look at him at first; I was too busy reciting my short list of grocery needs to be friendly.
He was about 2 feet from me when he looked me up and down and musically moaned "Mmm, mmm, mmm!" (with a gutteral emphasis on the last "mmm") I suppose he could have been commenting on the yummy appearance of the California Oranges display behind me. Or, perhaps, he was anticipating the taste of the Teddy Grams that were tucked warmly beneath his arm.
Either way; creepy. Nuff said.
I was on my lunch break today walking through a nearby grocery store. I am dressed fairly conservatively...law office appropriate; was in no way attempting to grab anyone's attention. As I strolled through the produce section, I half way noticed a non-descript middle aged man walking towards me. I didn't really look at him at first; I was too busy reciting my short list of grocery needs to be friendly.
He was about 2 feet from me when he looked me up and down and musically moaned "Mmm, mmm, mmm!" (with a gutteral emphasis on the last "mmm") I suppose he could have been commenting on the yummy appearance of the California Oranges display behind me. Or, perhaps, he was anticipating the taste of the Teddy Grams that were tucked warmly beneath his arm.
Either way; creepy. Nuff said.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Don't Be a Creepy Guy- Part One
Due to the events of a recent night out, I have decided to offer a service to my male readers. This service will benefit not only you, but any girl you may come in contact with from here on out. Hopefully, eventually, my aid will spread wide and eventually benefit me, also. I'm paying it forward, so to speak. It could literally impact the life of every person in the country. Or just everyone in the Southeast. Or maybe just all single people in Coppell, Texas. In any case, it will help someone.
There seems to be a disturbingly high number of creepy guys walking the streets. This isn't news to any girl. We all know it to be a sad, disappointing fact of life. The limits to where we encounter them is non-existent. They're kinda like roaches. Sure, we expect them in gross places like skanky bars and gas stations and under fallen trees in woodsy areas; but that's not the end of it. We've also learned to keep watch at the library, at our cousin's birthday parties, at the dentist's office, and even at church. Especially at church. It's a never ending battle for us.... developing the skills to spot them quickly and squash them before they crawl all over our sandwiches.
What has occurred to me many times is the possibility that some guys are truly oblivious to their creepiness. Poor social skills, low self-esteem, chemical imbalances.....there could be lots of contributing factors. But the reality is, fellas, that ignorance is no excuse. If you're creepy, not many girls are gonna stop and try to figure out why. She's gonna run like hell and take her friends with her. You aren't gonna be given the benefit of the doubt (unless the girl is creepy herself, and we just don't have time to cover all that).
Now boys, don't panic. I know that some of you are frantically wondering right now if YOU could possibly be a creepy guy.....one of the many who are blinded by their crooked delusions of self-smoothness. First off, if you're a friend of mine, you probably are not one. If you are, I just haven't seen you in action. But, for the rest of you, I'm going to cover some of the basics of male creepiness. This will be only the first installment of tips because there are way too many to cover in one day. I do have a job, after all. So, keep in mind that you can' t just run through today's list and think you're good to go if you haven't checked anything off. Don't get over confidant. This is just a re-telling of one creepy guy's creepiness-ish-ism. We're only hitting the tip of the ice berg. Oh, and if you need counseling or advice in this area, feel free to email me. I'd be happy to help. It's the least I can do.
You're probably a creepy guy if:
1. your initial pick-up line is one that tells a girl she looks "just like that girl from Friends".....
2. you consistently stare at a girl's chest even though she has given you no indication that she wants or enjoys you doing so.....
3. you offer to buy a girl a drink, she says "Nope, I'm good.", and then immediately accepts one from someone else.....
4. you think that bragging/elaborating/flat-out lying (whatever the case may be) that Britney Spears was your first kiss will impress ANY girl (even though it "REALLY, SERIOUSLY" makes sense because your grandmammy lives in Kentwood, LA) ......
5. you step on the heel of a girl's shoe while she's walking with her friends so that she'll have to stop and bend over to fix it; and her friends keep walking; and you grope her once she is out of their eyeshot; and you then proceed to tell her that's, indeed, why you stepped on her shoe in the first place.......
6. a girl has to ask her male friends to "guard" her so that you'll stay away.....
7. the second you initiate dancing with a girl, she eagerly allows herself to be pulled into a dance by another guy, and purposely doesn't look back to offer you an apologetic shrug of the shoulders....
8. you stalk a girl with unstable, crazy-dazed, fixated eyes on the dance floor while she doesn't dance with you.....
9. you attempt to handle "the situation" with the bouncer to impress the group you've tagged along with, but succeed only in displaying your ineffectiveness.....
10. you smell like cheese.....
If you do all of these things on the same night to the same girl, then you are exceedingly creepy. You are beyond help. Do NOT email me for advice.
There seems to be a disturbingly high number of creepy guys walking the streets. This isn't news to any girl. We all know it to be a sad, disappointing fact of life. The limits to where we encounter them is non-existent. They're kinda like roaches. Sure, we expect them in gross places like skanky bars and gas stations and under fallen trees in woodsy areas; but that's not the end of it. We've also learned to keep watch at the library, at our cousin's birthday parties, at the dentist's office, and even at church. Especially at church. It's a never ending battle for us.... developing the skills to spot them quickly and squash them before they crawl all over our sandwiches.
What has occurred to me many times is the possibility that some guys are truly oblivious to their creepiness. Poor social skills, low self-esteem, chemical imbalances.....there could be lots of contributing factors. But the reality is, fellas, that ignorance is no excuse. If you're creepy, not many girls are gonna stop and try to figure out why. She's gonna run like hell and take her friends with her. You aren't gonna be given the benefit of the doubt (unless the girl is creepy herself, and we just don't have time to cover all that).
Now boys, don't panic. I know that some of you are frantically wondering right now if YOU could possibly be a creepy guy.....one of the many who are blinded by their crooked delusions of self-smoothness. First off, if you're a friend of mine, you probably are not one. If you are, I just haven't seen you in action. But, for the rest of you, I'm going to cover some of the basics of male creepiness. This will be only the first installment of tips because there are way too many to cover in one day. I do have a job, after all. So, keep in mind that you can' t just run through today's list and think you're good to go if you haven't checked anything off. Don't get over confidant. This is just a re-telling of one creepy guy's creepiness-ish-ism. We're only hitting the tip of the ice berg. Oh, and if you need counseling or advice in this area, feel free to email me. I'd be happy to help. It's the least I can do.
You're probably a creepy guy if:
1. your initial pick-up line is one that tells a girl she looks "just like that girl from Friends".....
2. you consistently stare at a girl's chest even though she has given you no indication that she wants or enjoys you doing so.....
3. you offer to buy a girl a drink, she says "Nope, I'm good.", and then immediately accepts one from someone else.....
4. you think that bragging/elaborating/flat-out lying (whatever the case may be) that Britney Spears was your first kiss will impress ANY girl (even though it "REALLY, SERIOUSLY" makes sense because your grandmammy lives in Kentwood, LA) ......
5. you step on the heel of a girl's shoe while she's walking with her friends so that she'll have to stop and bend over to fix it; and her friends keep walking; and you grope her once she is out of their eyeshot; and you then proceed to tell her that's, indeed, why you stepped on her shoe in the first place.......
6. a girl has to ask her male friends to "guard" her so that you'll stay away.....
7. the second you initiate dancing with a girl, she eagerly allows herself to be pulled into a dance by another guy, and purposely doesn't look back to offer you an apologetic shrug of the shoulders....
8. you stalk a girl with unstable, crazy-dazed, fixated eyes on the dance floor while she doesn't dance with you.....
9. you attempt to handle "the situation" with the bouncer to impress the group you've tagged along with, but succeed only in displaying your ineffectiveness.....
10. you smell like cheese.....
If you do all of these things on the same night to the same girl, then you are exceedingly creepy. You are beyond help. Do NOT email me for advice.
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