The Redhead: you need to carry, at the very least, a potato gun.
Ok, so, we need to go back to last Wednesday, remember? Remember when the Guy in the Car talked to me and I was like, “Whoa, Guy in Car, what’s up with yelling at me in traffic?”
Ok, so we’re all on the same page.
So the next day. Thursday.
So Thursday morning, I got up and was sitting on my bed thinking to myself, “It’s too bad that stuff like yesterday doesn’t happen every day, so I could have a ready made blog post ready to go at all times.” Contrary to how it may seem at times, my day to day life is largely boring and coming up with interesting ways to say “I worked all day and some of the night and some of the weekend and I think I was also working in my sleep” gets a little tedious after a while.
So anyway, up, getting dressed, etc, when I realized I had left a target shopping bag in my car, one that contained, among other things, deodarant, which I, you know, needed, in order to finish getting ready. I threw on a hoodie with my work pants and trotted out to my car, retrieving the deodarant but for some reason leaving the rest of the bag, which contained things that needed to be in my house at some point. Apparently, carrying one single shopping bag of relatively light products is entirely too much for me, and I was probably straining myself more than I should just carrying the deodarant into the house.
By this point, I was mostly ready – quick trip back into my room to apply said deodarant and place it on the bed (where do you keep yours?), make sure I had my keys, mp3 player and building access card, and I was off, running about 10 or 15 minutes early, even.
So tra la la, drive to work, nearly there and I realize – ohhh crap. Still wearing my hoodie. Did I ever take the hoodie off? Did I take the hoodie off, put on some work appropriate shirt, and put the hoodie back on, only I did this in some kind of time warp, or maybe at the same time as an alien invasion and then the Men in Black guys came in and flashed my memory? I peeked down the front of my hoodie to be confronted with my bra. And nothing else. Eeexcellent. So much for running a bit early.
But wait! I left that Target bag in the car and I had purchased a cute pink button down the day before so, for once, my absolute crippling no-good-reason-for-it laziness has paid off! Double score, not ONLY do I have a shirt to put on, neatly avoiding disaster, but I also have something to blog about. I can make leaving for work half-dressed interesting and amusing, right? Sure I can. Totally can.
So I am at a stoplight, now smug in my stunning double victory when I notice the car in the lane next to me has not pulled all the way forward – in fact, there’s a good two car lengths between him and the next car, leaving him directly next to me. And it’s not a car. It’s a white SUV. A strangely, creepily familiar SUV.
No. Freaking. Way.
Oh, yes way. Totally way. Absolutely way. Completely way.
Waving to me, downright joyously, from the next car over, is your friend and mine, Mr. Guy in Car. Now, I’ve waited too long to tell this story, and pretty much laughed through the whole event, in a really uncomfortable manner, so I will only be including the parts of the dialogue I remember.
TJ: *disbelieving laughter*
Guy in Car: Good morning! I think it’s so special the way we keep meeting here in the morning. I’m going to call you Morning Star!
TJ: Oh, heh. (Isn’t that what God called Lucifer?)
Guy in Car: How are you this morning?
TJ: Fine, thanks. (Really freaked out if you want to know the truth!)
Guy in Car: This is so special. I’m going to work, you’re going to work. What’s your name?
TJ: TJ. (I’m an idiot!)
Guy in Car: I’m ________ [something I didn't hear as I was beginning my "Green light green light green light come ON green light!" mantra in my head.] You know, this is special. What’s your number?
TJ: Oh, I… I don’t have a phone right now! (Ok, an awkward lie, but I’ve never been much for thinking on my feet. It’ll do.)
Guy in Car: Wow, this is really great. You look good today. This is great, give me your number.
TJ: I don’t have a phone! (Stick with the lie, stick with it, see it through, you can do it!)
Guy in Car: Well, here, take my number. Maybe I have something for you. Maybe you have something for me. Maybe we can do something for each other.
TJ: Oh, I… I have no paper or pen. (WHO DO I HAVE TO KILL TO GET A GREEN LIGHT AROUND HERE? IS IT THIS GUY? ‘CAUSE I’LL DO IT. I’LL KILL THIS GUY.)
Guy in Car: *starts writing, puts on brakes, EXITS CAR*
TJ: *mental screams of anguish*
Guy in Car: Here, take this. You call me! You give me a call! GIVE ME A CALL.
TJ: *takes paper* Oh ok. Well you better get in your car… (Stick any appendage through this window and draw back a bloody stump, I swear it…)
Guy in Car: *runs back to car* Ok. Well. You call me! Call me, ok!
TJ: Uh huh. *zoooooom*
Came in to work, actually grateful, in some small way, for this encounter. Number in hand, I was able to brandish it at my co-workers and say “Do you see? Do you SEE this ridiculous crap that happens to me?” And I was also glad, I admit, because the very first thing I thought as I was zipping away at the speed of… well, a Toyota Yaris driven by a girl who wants to get the hell away from somewhere in a timely yet safe and considerate manner, was “Oh my GOD the iternet is NOT going to believe this.”
Co-worker helpful contributions:
“Why does that paper look like it has blood on it?”
“You better look out, he’s gonna get your license plate and find you.”
“So, you guys gonna go to a DRIVE IN? … … … Oh, come on guys, that was good! Drive in? You know, because they met in cars? Oh, whatever.”
I obviously need to find a new route to work. My drive to work has become one of crippling paranoia, where I tense up whenever I see anything even remotely resembling a white SUV. White cars, silver SUVs, pick up trucks, anything. Sure, he seemed kind of harmless, but I have a hard time believing anyone willing to one, yell across traffic at a girl they find to be pretty; two, give her a nickname as cheesey/creepy as “Morning Star;” and three, actually exit their vehicle in traffic to deliver a number that was clearly unwanted (Come on. “I don’t have a phone?” Is that not clear enough to you male types?), could ever truly be completely harmless. Especially since he was so insistent that I call.
And… I didn’t.
What if I run into him again and he’s angry I didn’t call? What if the whole back of his SUV is filled up with body parts of WOMEN WHO DIDN’T CALL AND THEN DARED CONTINUE TO APPEAR IN TRAFFIC? What if he talks to me again? Honestly, that’s my biggest fear. I hate when people talk to me. I’m so awkward.
I didn’t call. But – BUT – for those of you who think these things just don’t happen to people, who can’t take my word and quickly shot camera phone pictures as proof – I will let one of you call.
E-mail me to talk about it, I’m serious.