Sunday, October 21, 2012

Why You Shouldn't Talk to Strangers

 I've come to accept that I'm a walking stranger magnet.  It happens all the time - especially on airplanes when I want to read, sleep, or pretend that I'm watching the in-flight movie.  People feel the odd need to speak to me.  I must have one of those faces that looks like it wants to listen, like it wants to know your problems, but for the most part contact with strangers makes me a bit uncomfortable.  And they never ask easy questions like "where is the library?" (unless they're young, in which case they would probably ask, "what is a library?")  It's always some off-the-wall question that tells me they've assumed I actually know things.  It's obvious when someone is a stranger if they ask me for directions.  Anyone that knows me and my one weakness, a sort of Achilles' heel some would say, would NEVER ask me for directions.  Not unless they like getting lost  unexpected adventures.  The funny part is that in spite of the invasion of my comfort zone, my personality usually gets the best of me and I end up talking back with little control over my words, and also that sentences that start with "the funny part is"  never actually tell you the funny part.

So once upon a time, because this happened weeks ago and I kept saying, "I'll blog it tomorrow," because I'm a horrible procrastinator ever so busy, I was at Publix skipping down the dairy aisle when I was approached by a man.  I should probably clarify that I wasn't actually skipping as I hate grocery shopping.  Anyone that talks to a girl that's skipping down a supermarket aisle is just asking for it.  I guess I could have gone back and deleted that sentence instead of resorting to clarifications, but that seemed like more work than writing this sentence, though it actually wasn't.  Anyway, Mr. Anonymous Shopper (he didn't ask to be anonymous, I just didn't get his name) approached me, and the conversation went something like this.  Actually, it went exactly like this, because I wrote it all down after it happened and my memory is awesome for trivial things.    

Anonymous Shopper: "Why are these eggs vegetarian?"

Me: (*After looking around for someone who cared, like a Publix employee, his nutritionist, or a wife, any wife.) "Because it says so on the box and you're about to pay four bucks?"

Anonymous Shopper: "But I thought vegetarians didn't eat eggs."

Me: (*Damn, sarcasm didn't work.  The force is strong in this one.*) "Some do.  They're technically unfertilized chicken ovums, so it's only half the guilt."

Anonymous Shopper: "Really?"

Me: (*Jesus H. Christ - it's gonna be a minute.  Think fast - give him more fractions.*) No, not really.  I'm pretty sure it has to do with the chicken's diet and not the shopper's.  So it's really half a chicken and that half chicken is vegetarian, so it's actually a quarter of the guilt."

I accepted the awkward moment of silence that followed while he did math in his head, that he was probably not very good at because he looked most confused, as my queue to move on to the next aisle.  So the moral of the story is: Never talk to strangers - if that stranger is me.  

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