Yesterday I had an unusual encounter with a guy in a parking lot. I had just finished getting a pedicure at a typical Vietnamese-owned nail salon. Maybe you’ve visited one and experienced a little something like this…
I used to go in for pedicures because I thought it was the cheapest way to relax while getting a decent foot massage. Not the case at all anymore. The nail business has become the service industry’s version of a high-pressure assembly line – you block upsale attempts while the nail techs try to shave a few seconds off of their personal best pedicure time. They turn those spa chairs faster than my favorite Thai dive-restaurant turns their tables. (You know the kind of place, where a sit down meal for a table of six occurs in under 30 minutes, and the server hovers over you with the check asking if you would like a to-go box shortly after bringing your entree.) I finished up, and even though the pedicure was in no way relaxing, at least my hooves were in better shape than when I walked into the place.
I headed out the door toward my car at the same time this guy was walking out from the wing place located a couple doors down from the nail salon. I don’t know what it is exactly about this wing place, but the only word to describe it is “sketchy”. This guy was probably in his mid-30s and looked like that disheveled frat boy who left college physically but not mentally – head of untamed hair, broken in flip flops, fraying khaki shorts, worn Atari t-shirt, computer bag slung sloppily over one shoulder with zippers open and cords spilling out, leaving a wing place late afternoon probably just having consumed a dozen and a half wings and his own pitcher of beer. Oh, and oddly, he was being followed by an unleashed Pug who squatted in the middle of the roadway of the parking lot to relieve herself.
I noticed him, but my mind was somewhere else and I wasn’t paying a lot of attention until he turned back toward me and said, “Hi, my name is Steven.” When I looked up and made eye contact and realized he was talking to me I thought okay, this is a little strange, but I’m a friendly gal so I just said, “Hi, I’m Chris.” He reversed course and headed straight toward me with his hand outstretched (he had a small Dead Kennedys tat on his forearm).
Amused, I reached out to shake his hand, when he opened his arms wide and gave me a big hug instead. “You’re beautiful.” He said. I chuckle to myself thinking, Dude has on his beer goggles, but I just said “thank you”. And he said, “Would you like to have dinner with me sometime? How about tonight?” Still finding the moment comically odd I said, “That’s a kind offer, but I’m married.” To which he immediately retorted, “Do you have any cute friends?” And I laughed and said, “well, they are all pretty much married too.” “Aww man”, he said. “Sorry” I said as I started to walk toward my car again, all the while thinking the guy either deserves some credit for having had the stones to make such a bold move or he’s just talking with every lady who crosses his path, but damn that was a strange encounter, when I hear his parting shot, “Hey, you’ve got a great ass!” To which I said, “Thank you very much!” because, listen, if someone wants to tell me that my 42-year-old ass looks great, he will definitely get a “thank you” out of me.