So the other day I was leaving my office. I was waiting at a light for a bit and this random guy starts having a conversation with me about the weather. Now, he was a normal looking person, but he starting talking to me like we had been having this conversation already and like we were buddies (Red Flag #1). So I politely respond so as not to be completely rude. Then the light changes and he starts walking with me across the street. He then asks me if I work for a certain company that is in the building I just came out of, so he obviously had noticed me prior to his initiation of conversation (Red Flag #2), but I told him no, I didn’t work for them. He then proceeded to talk to me in detail about all these problems he had with his wife, and the divorce, and some property issues, and child support, etc. He was rambling a bit, and at this point I was starting to recognize that he might not be quite right. (Big Red Flag #3).
Well, we then come to the locked door to my parking garage (this has all happened within one block), and I go to unlock the door, hoping that he won’t follow me in because I don’t have any mace or anything. Instead, he stops me by placing his hand on my arm, looking into my eyes and telling me that he just had to say that I have beee-you-tiful . . . FEET.
Then he proceeds to tell me that he has a foot fetish (eww) and just had to let me know how beautiful my feet were. Then he let me go and I proceeded to run into the garage, hoping he did not follow my adorable tootsies inside.
Now, obviously this was my fault for wearing open toed shoes to work and walking around in the city where any old crazy person could gaze upon them. I was obviously asking for it!
But here is my real problem with this. Besides the obvious ick factor of some weirdo stopping me on the street to ogle my feet. The problem I have with this is that the guy looked Totally Normal! That’s right. He lulled me in with his complete and total non-remarkableness.
What I’m saying, is that if you are one bean shy of a full enchilada, have the decency to at least look a little off so I can avoid having a conversation with you. Is that too much to ask?
There is a guy down the street from my office that fits the bill there, and I greatly appreciate that, because I can routinely avoid him. He is usually shirtless (unless he is wearing his reflective vest – like the highway workers wear so as not to be crushed by oncoming cars), and wears shorts and black combat boots. He is usually WASHING THE SIDEWALK with his big broom and soapy water, or washing himself off with same soap and water IN THE STREET. He pushes around a huge cart full of broken down boxes and the aforementioned broom.
See? No problem recognizing the crazy, right? Exactly. That’s my point.
And I rest my case.