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."
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.