Picture it: Scarborough, last Tuesday afternoon.
As mentioned previously, one of the bathrooms in our household is (STILL) undergoing renovations.
On this particular day, I’d been accompanying my mom, who was trying to find a bathroom vanity that (a) would fit a space of 42 3/4 inches and (b) that she wouldn’t look upon with regret every single day.
We pull into this little industrial-ish area -the kind where these little businesses have unit numbers affixed to their doors.
As we’re making our way towards our destination, I see two dudes in my peripheral vision come out of another unit. And although I didn’t look at them, I’m getting the weird vibe that they were looking in our direction. More specifically, at me.
Fast forward about five minutes later. The place we went to yielded no fruit, so we went to one of the other units to check. The door’s locked.
In the meantime, there’s this dude parked next to us, engine running. But he’s not going anywhere.
It’s only when when we’re making our way back to the car that he blurts out something to my mom about her nice car.
(Background: my mom owns a 1986 Dodge Colt. It’s still in good condition and – thanks to numerous upgrades by my mechanic dad, whenever a car part fails – still runs fairly well. Concidentally, this is the second time in as many days someone stops her because they are in awe of her “ancient” ride.)
She stops and goes over to talk to him for a few minutes. I warily follow, keeping my distance.
He notes how well it looks for its age. I occasionally peer at him, and the Guyanese flag/air freshener hanging off his rearview mirror.
At one point he says, “I’ll buy your car off you. I’m serious. I’ll buy it right now.”
My mom explains it’s probably not worth more than a few hundred dollars. He’s trying to be insistent about it, saying, “I’ll even drive you home.”
(This is when the red flag in my mind starts waving more briskly than usual.)
Eventually – and FINALLY, ’cause at this point, I’m feeling like a piece of fried bacon just standing there in the heat – the conversation ends and we amble over to the Colt as The Dude In The Car starts his engine.
Even as we get ready to pull out of the parking lot, The Dude still has his engine running. He hasn’t moved since we left him. Which I find completely creepy.
And actually, as my mom mentions aloud how weird the conversation was, I actually take a look to make sure he’s not following us.
I knew exactly what he was doing. And it’s not until several days later that my mom comes clean and says what I was thinking the entire time.
SERIOUSLY. Who DOES that?
And has this actually WORKED on other women?
Because where I come from, that’s not only off-putting, it’s a mere hop, skip and a jump away from Stalkerville.