Well, it doesn't happen that often, but somehow I managed to win the affection of a complete stranger in one of the most idyllic locales a sentimental gal like me could ever dream of--the gas station. Yes, plain ole unassuming me--glasses and ponytail in tow--stumbled upon being the apple of someone's eye while innocently pumping gas at the Chevron earlier this evening. Never mind he seemed borderline homeless and one or two 40-ounces shy of devolving into Fast Freddy. I managed to snag the heart of my purported Prince Charming, and for that I'm--well, disturbed.
It's a rare and peculiar occasion whenever I turn a head or two because I don't exactly go out of my way to draw attention to myself. If Drake's definition of fancy is getting your "nails done, hair done, everything did," then I guess I ain't fancy. I refuse to spend my money or time on that high-maintenance type of lifestyle, and my attire at the Chevron station couldn't have reflected this more plainly. I was as homely as it gets--complete with my "grandma sweater" and sneakers--going about my business in my usual meek-mannered way, getting my hands smelly and dirty from pumping gas into my eleven-year-old Civic. In short, the catch of all catches. (*?!?!?!*) I can't fathom what aspect of my dowdy appearance inspired him to try to hook up with me. But inspired he was, and try he did.
First he offered to pump my gas for me. When I politely declined, he then asked, "well can I have your number then?" How in God's name he made that leap in logic, I'll never know. But once he got onto that "7-digits" track, he just wouldn't let up. First he wanted my phone number. Then he wondered why I wouldn't give him my number and asked if it was because I had a boyfriend or husband. Then he said he'd give me his number. Then he said he'd give me the number of all his family members. Then he recited his number out loud for me and promised to answer his phone if I called. I swear with all this talk of phone numbers, I thought I'd temporarily wandered onto a New Edition video where this Chevron dude was singing all of Ricky Bell's lines.
He then moved on to a series of pick-up lines. In one, he asked for a quarter then yammered on about a song lyric or some "adage" his uncle used to say about what to do with a quarter when you saw the girl you love. (I know. I didn't get it either.) When he saw how unimpressed I was, he then upped the ante with the following: "If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put 'u' and 'i' ('you and I') together." Amusing (somewhat), but I couldn't help but notice the grammatical incorrectness of that quote/unquote joke.
Hm. I wonder if that marmish-type of response is the reason I don't attract very many men. Oh well. Since the "Chevron Freddies" of the world are the only men I seem capable of attracting, I'll keep "clapping my hands" with Cameo and "putting my hands up" with Beyonce. I'll be ah-ight.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment