He wasn't bad looking, don't get me wrong, but he looked like one of those generic corporate VP types with a perfectly starched blue shirt with a very subdued windowpane plaid, khaki slacks, and the perfectly coiffed hair. Tanned, stout, probably plays a lot of golf. Divorced because the kids went off to college, or because he liked the strippers a little too much. Plus, he's got a copy of the Washington Post on his table. Not someone I'd have a lot in common with, probably.
So after I got my coffee I'm walking to the door, he winds up beside me and holds the door open for me, and I said thank you, and went to walk away, and by this point I'm thinking dude, you're not getting anywhere with this, but you get an A for effort. He asks if I always come to this Starbucks, and I just turned around and said, "I'm on a first name basis with my shrink and I belong to the National Rifle Association. Have a great day!"
He let me go willingly. Remember that the next time you meet Mr Creepy.
1 comment:
and your closing comment is why I love you...
Post a Comment