Please note: All names have been changed to protect the guilty. Don’t worry, I still love you.
We grew up being told not to talk to them and look what happens! We grow up and start talking to them. Just throw that spray can called CAUTION right out the window. While you’re at it, you might as well dump COMMON SENSE down the drain and flush SELF PRESERVATION right down the toilette with your daily dump.
I mean really, it’s quite obvious. Mr. Rodgers kicks the bucket and we’re all going to Hell in a hand basket. Talking to strangers as if they’re as common as the pickles on our plate. Really? Do you know who handled that pickle? I think not.
The Beaver would be horrified as would Big Bird if they had any inkling the kind of people we were associating with on a daily basis. Next time you’re on line at the grocery – take a gander at your local strangers.
Yet, we’re addicted.
It’s no different than being told, “don’t touch that!” You simply can’t help yourself so you do it. Just to see what happens. Nine times out of ten – nothing exciting occurs. But that tenth time- yowzers!
They come in all shapes and sizes.
There are ones you wouldn’t touch with a four foot pole, while riding past them on your Orange County Chopper while going to work.
There are others you certainly wouldn’t mind being trapped on a desert island for several days with before help arrived.
Lastly there are others you routinely have to pick your lower mandible up off the floor by and can’t help but think one thing: WTF is wrong with you?!
This past week I was sailing on a cruise liner for work and had such an encounter. Seemed harmless enough at first. Similar to if a mosquito landed on you and you had no clue what it was until it poked it’s giant beak into your virgin skin to suck your blood to give itself life. THEN, you realize….this is a problem.
SMACK…..no, that’s not the sound of you ending the life of the blood-sucking mosquito. That’s the sound of you thinking….WTF have I gotten myself into and who the hell is going to get me out of this?
Nobody. Buck up and carry on. You are in it. Now get out of it.
It happened at the Martini Bar.
Enter the swaggering Johnny Boy who saunters up to me and begins to chat me up at the bar.
First thing I notice?
This man has a beak on him that I don’t think he could get inside a coffee mug if he tried. It may be handy for dialing on iPhones. Wow. That’s quite the pointer you got there. Does it act like a compass as well? Or wait, do you do search and rescue missions? That can’t be right, you don’t have a barrel of whiskey under your chin, but then again we aren’t in the Alps. What the hell do I know, we’re in the Caribbean.
He begins to ask how my evening is going and how lovely I look in my dress. Did I enjoy dinner. Was I enjoying the cruise? Oh the questions of common chat.
Yatta. Yatta. Yatta. Insert nice comments.
Then he hits me with, “So the guy you’re with….” nodding to the guy to my right…. “is that your husband?”
(Note: said man in question is large bald man to my right)
I quietly pick up my velvet sledge hammer and casually position it above my head….ready, aim…release:
No, he’s my boss. And that guy over there…..(and I point to a gentleman across the bar…(another larger muscled man) that’s my VP. I’m surrounded by men who own me. Sorry.
Blink. Blink. Bambi smile. Blink.
>>>> awkward moment goes here <<<<<
Oh, that’s too bad, the pointy nose man says. Did I forget to mention he was baked to a crispy bacon color? And wearing a lovely tank top by the way. Oh yes, he was also a good stiff breeze into his Long Island Teas by now, which made the interaction all the more entertaining as we launched into Act Two:
He then turns to his other side and asks about the ladies sitting to our left side.
“Who are these lovely ladies? From Sex in the City?” Obviously, I am seeing my out approaching as quickly as the Lexington Avenue stop on the NY Metro when you’ve dozed off unexpectedly. SNAP….got to go.
WHY, yes, aren’t they lovely ladies? And you know what? They’re also with me! Don’t they look FABULOUS?
He had a name for each of the ladies and as he figured who was who, I was gathering my hand bag and martini….positioning my stilettos for lift off and preparing for a pole vault from my seated position.
He was simply amazed and at a loss for words as he approached my friend Bernice. With the quickness of a forest mouse on crack, I hop from my bar stool and quickly join friends at the back of the bar. Just a simple three steps away from Bernice, we’re anxiously watching the drama unfold.
From our vantage point, the Pointer was very interested.
From Bernice’s vantage point, it was quite a different engagement.
Pats on her purse. Comments on her earrings. Here a pat, there a comment, every where a pat ‘n comment.
Old McNose had a pat ‘n comment….e i e i o……and on this pat he had an drunken comment! E I E I O.
Alas, we weren’t too concerned.
I, all 5’1 and filled with Pixie glitter was able to survive the brief moments of stranger commentary of The Nose. The spectator crowd in the back figured Bernice could do the same…..and we were quite enjoying the several minutes of conversational exchange between strangers. Actually hoping to snap a photo if possible.
Fact or fiction you decide: It all came to a screeching halt and we were later discovered to our horror…. he wanted to sell her Boy Scout Popcorn but the deal was only good if she could trade with her stash Ginsu Knives. You know they cut through cans AND then tomatoes. The Nose said he didn’t swing that way so the deal was off on the Ginsu Knives….but wait until I tell you about the Pocket Hoses he was ready to deal on.