No Country for Creepy Old Men

This is dedicated to my friend who urged me to write about my old man experiences…the book shall come later, and thank you for the inspiration.

It has become apparent now more so than ever that I’m an old soul. However just because I’m an old soul, doesn’t mean that I’m a kindred spirit to a man my Dad’s age. Let me illustrate my point.

A few weeks ago I made a run to a local 24 hour drug store after my night shift to purchase some cheap purple hair dye to go with the new blue streaks some girlfriends put in the night before. While I was there I had to make a few other purchases. When approaching the register, the older clerk kept asking me to show him sunshine. He pointed out I had sunshine in my hair, referring to the sunflower on the right side of my head. Due to my poor hearing abilities and Tinitis, I didn’t really understand him, so I feigned a smile pretending I did. What came next I heard clearly. He smiled like a Cheshire cat, made; what can only be described as a ray gun noise and exclaimed, “There it is! Got it!” At that moment I was hoping he would see the purple hair dye he was ringing up and think I was some sort of strange abnormal person like most people would, but it didn’t phase him. He unfortunately looked at my name tag and then told me I had been on his mind. I get this frequently.

I love my name, however because my name is Georgia, just telling a slightly off center person elicits the Ray Charles version of the song by the same name from them, and usually the person is a creepy old man. When I was a teenager and working at a restaurant, line cooks would frequently sing to me if I had to put a request in. I don’t understand why my name affects people like this, but I digress.

There was another instance where I was opening a store a few years ago. A little old man in a trucker’s hat with pants hiked up to his ears shuffled up and asked where the peanut butter filled pretzels were. I offered for him to follow me in order to show him the way. In my ignorance, I realized maybe the old man couldn’t keep up with me and it might be best to turn around, go back and slow down. As I turned around, the little old man was RIGHT behind me, staring me in the face. I showed him what he was looking for, and he responded, “How ‘bout a kiss?” Come to find out, the man was married and a square dancer. He then asked me if I wanted to square dance with him. I was mortified.

The next predicament was rather embarrassing. I was helping to load some product for a man who was close to my Father’s age and looked strangely like Hulk Hogan’s non-steroid induced brother. The guy I was helping (who isn’t with my work or in any way affiliated) was taking product from my hand and placing it on a truck. I was trying to trim off some plants so he had the fresh parts ready to go. He was kind enough to hold the plant while I sliced off the sprigs that had fallen to the side. He then presented me with the sprigs and said, “Don’t say I didn’t ever get you anything.” Then he asked me on a date. I said, “No, but thanks” briefly explaining I just got out of a long relationship. He then asked again, “How about for the future?” Again I had to burst the guy’s bubble. He finally left with his head hanging low much like George Michael’s on Arrested Development, or Charlie Brown’s when they both were rejected by their love interest.

You see, this isn’t just a recent development. This kind of thing has happened since I was a kid. Hence the “creepy” in the title of this blog.

One incident dates back to when I was six years old. My family, and a friend and her family were all going to a local theme park close to where I used to live in the Ozarks. My parents and I were approaching the turnstile to get in when a rather sweaty, large man in thick plastic glasses was manning the station. He wiped his brow with a white handkerchief, and said, “Phwew, I haven’t had a hug all day…can you give me a hug?”  I remember not wanting to hug him but felt obligated. All I knew was after hugging that sweaty large man, fun awaited on the other side of the gate, and I was willing to hug to get to it. At the age of six years old, for me, hugging this odd man was the equivalent of having to answer a Troll’s three questions at a bridge just to cross it. Next in line was my friend who is the same age as me and her family. I was growing impatient waiting on the other side because I knew fun was happening somewhere in the park and we were missing out on it. As I stood there watching, they went through the turnstile with no problem. She didn’t have to hug the sweaty troll.

"Hurry up and ask me the three questions already!"

So you see, no matter what age I am, I will always be attracting creepy old men. When I become an old lady, in theory, creepy old men will become a thing of the past and I won’t have to worry about getting hit on; much to my delight.

Have you had any instances where someone who gave you the heeby jeebies hit on you or just plain made you feel uncomfortable? Were they age inappropriate?