One of the big perks about my new dwelling is that, on my commute, I have two dueling gas stations, right next door to each other, who typically offer the cheapest gas in the area. Both the Liberty and the Hess showed $2.89/gallon this morning. You really can't beat that. As I drove home last night and looked over at the competitors to my left, I wondered why I opted for the Liberty over the Hess every stop so far. I guess it's just because I love liberty, and those stars and stripes on the sign are completely mesmerizing.
So when I pulled in to fill up this morning, it never occurred to me that it would be my last trip to Liberty.
It started off fine. Get out of car, work magic with tricky gas latch, and commence fueling. Hollywood sunglasses on, I took in the world around me, including looking into the store of the gas station, only to find the attendant staring at me. I quickly looked away.
"Good morning!" I looked up to see a man walking slyly toward me, the man who I just caught staring at me through the window.
"Good morning," I returned, in a friendly but reserved manner.
"You are beautiful."
Oh shit.
I'm one of those girls who will complain from time to time that I'm not one to be hit on or to catch anyone glancing my way. Petty, I know, but all women need a confidence boost from time to time. The last time anything like this remotely happened, I was in a bar in Boston with my friend Kelly, circa 2004, and we managed to somehow start a bar fight by talking with two guys about the Pittsburgh airport. Completely bizarre, but it was enough to satisfy my ego for a few years.
"Oh, well, thank you." What I'm NOT is that girl who easily blows off strangers in a rude manner. I also don't think well on my feet, so amidst the interrogation that followed, I was not able to be creative.
"I was just looking out the window and saw how beautiful you are so I wanted to meet you."
"Ah, well, thank you for that compliment."
"How many children do you have?" (Yes, he was from another country)
Here we go.
"None, actually."
"No? Why not? Are you married?"
Here's what stinks. A co-worker and I are going to a conference next week that requires us to go tour a local university today. For fun, and on the off chance that someone recognizes what I do and where I work, I'm going under the identity of his trophy wife. I even wore my fake diamond to complete the look. AND I FORGOT I WAS WEARING IT.
"Nope. Not married."
"How is that possible?"
Insert my awkward laughter.
"Do you have a boyfriend," he continued.
"Yes! Yes I do! Yes!"
"But why are you not married?"
"Just not ready yet." Insert nodding with awkward laughter.
"Do you have a marriage plan?"
A marriage plan? Is that what those binders some of my friends made prior to their wedding are? With the pictures of dresses and cakes and crap? Cuz I'm not doing that.
"Um, do I plan to get married? Yes."
"What is your marriage plan?"
"Really don't have one, just know it will happen when it's right."
"How old are you?"
Oh Jesus Christ.
"28"
"Ah, 28. That is a good age."
For what, I wondered? Marriage? Child bearing? Being tied up in his torture chamber?
"Well, again, thanks for the compliment." (And please get faster gas pumps installed!)
"When will I see you again?"
!!!!!!
"Guess you'll have to keep looking out the window for me."
"Where do you live?"
"Alexandria." I KNOW! LIKE I SAID! I'M NOT GOOD AT THIS!
"So when will I see you?"
"Again, just keep looking out the window." At that point I took the gas nozzle out to replace it on the tank and managed to get gasoline all over my hand. At which point he extended his. Serves him right.
"What's your name?" I TOLD HIM! I KNOW! I'M SUCH A TOOL! But honestly, he can't do much with a first name, and, again, I'm only good at being a royal bitch to those I know and care about.
As I drove away, frantically searching for the lavender lotion in my bag to temporarily mask the smell of gasoline, I tried to figure out if I was flattered or sad for the guy. I had a vision of him just sitting in the gas station, waiting for single women to pull up so he can make his move. He is clearly looking for a wife.
Then again, it may not have been a bar fight, but it's enough to satisfy my ego for another year.
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3 comments:
What are you complaining about? This is the same story about how I got you in the first place, except it was an Arby's Drive Thru.
Hilarious blog, baby.
Thank you. I feel much more informed.
Also, it was 2005 and at least you got to talk to the winner of the Hobbits of Pittsburgh contest (all 4'3" of him); I was stuck chatting up the deaf chiropractor. But that was a fun night, wasn't it?
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