I am almost at the point where almost every single day a stranger talks to me. And not easy benign stuff, like "hey do you know where the nearest bank is?" Like weird crap.
I went out Saturday night for a concert and to see friends I hadn't seen in a long time. I ended up staying over on a friend's couch for the night. Needless to say, riding home on the subway for an hour after a bit of overindulging and sleeping on a couch in my clothes, maybe I wasn't at my best.
But this guy comes up to me, despite the headphones (side note: this always gets me--I have headphones on; unless you want to ask me a question because I look knowledgeable, don't bother me, just don't do it) and gets in my face and starts talking to me.
Weirdo Guy: Hey, I couldn't help but notice you sitting over here, looking all beautiful.
Me: [after I recall how I hadn't brushed my teeth in over 24 hours, had slept in a rumpled mess, and also didn't wash off any eye makeup before bed, so I clearly looked like I had died a few days earlier and just didn't know yet]
Mmm.
Weirdo Guy: No really. What's your name?
Me: [I stare blankly and just motion to the headphones to be like, "oh can't hear you."
Weirdo Guy: WHAT'S YOUR NAME?? [he upped the volume to be sure I heard. Thanks, guy.]
Me: [I start panicking--I can't think of a single name that isn't MY NAME to give this guy and I am clearly uncomfortable and saying nothing for seconds on end; COME UP WITH A NAME ALREADY!]
My name is... Annnnnnnnnnnn.
Now I like to think I am usually a little better at thinking of things. But seriously, if I am going to bother with a fake name, WHY pick a name that is basically MY NAME? Diane, Ann. Not so different...
Weirdo guy: Well you look good. What, you got a boyfriend or somethin'?
Me: oh, mmm-hmm. Yup. I got a serious boyfriend. We are like, so serious. He's great. We're so happy. He's tall.
Another note: Maybe don't overplay how happy you are with the non-existent boyfriend, because the more you go on, the less it seems like he exists.
So the guy was like "awww, dag." And he went to sit diagonally across from me and half sleep, half stare for the next half hour. Before getting off, he decided to use the subway pole to do some kind of weird, backbend stretching for a few minutes. Awesome.
Anyhow, then I was walking home on Monday night from the subway. I walk next to this guy who feels the need to start talking to me.
Street Creep: EXCUSE ME! [yeah, I had headphones in SO HE YELLED.]
Me: yes?
Street Creep: Are you okay?
Me: .... uh, yeah. I'm good.
Street Creep: You sure?
Me: [I look down to make sure I'm not randomly profusely bleeding, or missing a limb--but no, I'm good]
I'm positive.
Street Creep: Where are you from?
Me: [gesturing widely with my hands despite being about a block from home] I live in the Bronx.
Street Creep: What do you do? Like, for a living?
Me: Publishing.
Street Creep: And do you enjoy walking? Like, do you do it a lot?
Me: ..... uh, I don't think much about it.
Street Creep: Okay, well have a good night, sweetheart.
I mean, I don't mean to sound totally antisocial. But honestly, don't stop me when I'm trying to get home, before I have to make dinner, and go grocery shopping, just to get home and put off doing taxes yet again so I can go to bed and wake up for work. FOR NO REASON. That's the issue--people don't bother me with legitimate reasons, they bother me because they are crazy and for whatever reason, it is like they can find the crazy gene in me and identify with it and think I am a person happy to connect with them. Not so.
