Thursday, January 15, 2009

The new place to hook up

 I was filling up my car yesterday at the Wawa.  (For all of you who are non-east coasters, Wawa is your one stop shop for cheap gas and food.)  I was minding my own business, freezing my butt off due to the frigid winds that we have been having lately, when I heard something.  I looked up and saw a guy at the pump down from mine.  Not just any guy.  But a guy who drives the nicest car he can afford, tints his windows as dark as he is legally allowed, plays his R&B a little too loud, and probably has some sort of bling bling tucked under his sweater, although I couldn’t really tell from my vantage point.

Looking at him, I noticed him saying something to me, presumably a second time.  I couldn’t hear him, so I said, naturally, “What?”  I thought that perhaps he had noticed something wrong with my car, like a flat tire.


He said something again, but not bothering to speak up.  Annoyed at the fact that he didn’t try to speak up yet he obviously had something to say and I obviously couldn’t hear him, I replied, “I can’t hear you.  What did you say?”  I also moved closer.  But not too close.  After all, he was a strange man (and one who obviously couldn’t bother speaking loud enough so that other people could hear him oven the freakin’ nor’easter.)  I moved close enough to have a conversation, but not so close as to find myself knocked out and tied up in the back of his trunk, if you get my drift. 


“Can I take you to dinner?” he asked, complete with what I am sure he thought was a shy, but charming smile.  I looked at him a bit shocked.  Who, after all, picks up girls at the gas station?  He obviously thought he was bestowing upon me the greatest gift of a lifetime.  He walked with a bit of a swagger, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he had tucked his hand into the front of his pants. 


“I’m sorry, no” was my reply. 


“I’m sorry?!”  I get propositioned at the Wawa by some R&B artist wannabe, and I get all apologetic?  What is wrong with me?  Really, what I wanted to say was “not bloody likely.”  And then maybe kick him in the crotch in case he pulled something funny because I was getting rather creeped out at this point.  My impression wasn’t improved when he started conversing with another “sweet, young thing” at the pump across from his.  Smarmy he was.  Definitely smarmy. 


So yeah.  The new place to get hooked up these days is at the gas station.  Single friends take note.

1 comment:

yola said...

whoo baby, I'm off to get me some gas...wink wink, nudge nudge.


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