So, I was at the post office downtown yesterday and I met this guy who wanted to promote my music.
This was odd for several reasons, the most prominent reason being that I had no instrument with me, didn't mention playing any music, and well- isn't that enough? It was odd. It started as a conversation about the weather and progressed to an offer to promote my music, which I had never mentioned in any way. The guy was like, "You aren't by any chance some sort of artist, are you?" I declined his offer to promote me, saying, truthfully, that I needed a hell of a lot more practice. He then went on about how he wanted to "bring the music back to town" etc. etc., which is also quite odd because, you know, there's live music all over the place here.
So that was weird. And the whole way home I was thinking about explanations, finally deciding that I grew up around so many musicians that I must just seem like one, myself.
And then I tell the story to Brian and he's like, "That guy was hitting on you."
Oh, Duh.
The reason I didn't think he was hitting on me was because I'm a thirty-something white girl and he was a fifty-something black guy. (I'm a bit prejudiced-not against anything like that, but I just don't notice it as a possibility, I guess.) And also because I never think anyone is hitting me in any way, unless they are more blatant, like an actual "your place or mine" kind of thing, and then that's always very yucky and I get all upset about it.
But then I started to really think about it, obsessingly, really, and I realized, stupidly, that fifty-something black men ALWAYS hit on me! As a matter of fact, I have been flirting with nothing but fifty-something black men (and maybe one or two younger black men) since I moved here- totally inadvertently. I don't know what it is. Either other ethnicities are not interested in me, or they're all just too subtle for me to catch on.
My favorite pickup line is from a certain black-fifty-year-old-martial-arts-master-history-teacher who shall remain nameless. (ha ha.) He asked me, "How are you?" one day and I said,
"I'm fine." He very pointedly looked me up and down said,
"I can SEE that." And I blushed and ran away.
The reason that one is my favorite is because it affected me so. Every time, for months, when someone asked me how I was, I couldn't help but think of him. I couldn't say, "I'm fine" anymore. I opted for the grammatically incorrect, "I'm good." And I was an English major! Is that what he meant to have happen? It's too funny. What a colossally good joke.
That is hilarious. I, too, am often hit on by middle-aged black men. It's been happening since I was nineteen or so. Also, middle-aged Hispanic men who appear to be fresh from Mexico and therefore do not speak English have a real thing for me. Of course, now that I am married and wear my ring all the time, it happens less frequently. Especially when they see my deceptively tough-loking husband.
ReplyDeleteI guess I get hit on by the fresh from Mexico guys, too- remember the one who slipped me a twenty on my 21st birthday? or was it my birthday... I think I kept the money. Why not? You drug me away. You had been dancing with a lumberjack. That was quite a night.
ReplyDeleteAnd, yeah, Marcos is deceptively tough looking. And Brian is deceptively sweet looking. Just kidding. Brian really is sweet.
Marcos is deceptively tough looking. I think I could take him, but let's not find out.
ReplyDeleteI shouldn't be reading this. :o
ReplyDeleteWow. I am always surprised by how few things in our memories of college mesh. I vaguely remember dancing with lumberjacks all the time. I do not recall the specific incident you describe, though I was probably pretty trashed. Did we go to the Pelican's nest for your birthday, too? I seem to remember that.
ReplyDeleteRobyn, I think you could take Marcos, because he wouldn't hit back!
Ha ha. Poor Papa.
ReplyDeleteYeah, Gina, it was the Pelican's Nest. You remember right. This Mexican guy told me I was "muy bonita" and handed me a twenty dollar bill. I was really trashed and I just sat there staring at it. I couldn't figure out what the heck he wanted for twenty bucks. It was too much to buy me a drink and too little for anything else. Because I was really drunk, I believed I could speak Spanish, and I was just trying to formulate a question in my mind when you ditched the big guy in overalls that you were dancing with, came over to this table where I was sitting with the Mexican guy, and grabbed me, saying, "I think it's time for us to go-" or some such thing. And I was saying, "but, but-" and you literally grabbed my arm and dragged me down the stairs away from the Pelican's Nest. You explained later that men giving me twenty dollar bills just could not be good. It was all kind of funny, I think. You were looking out for me. I believe it was the deal that you would babysit me for my birthday night out, and you did your job!