Tuesday, December 16, 2008


*This is a 100% true story. You can't make this shit up.

I pulled into the self-service car wash with a one-track mind: get the car obsessively clean, and then get to the mall. I told myself I would spend my entire paycheck on clothes and shoes as soon as I finished this one chore.
I got out of the white Eagle Talon (all 98 pounds of me) and looked around. Nobody else in sight. Good. I walked to the change machine, stuck in a five dollar bill, and counted as each quarter hit the metal cup at the bottom. A nondescript sedan pulled in just as I made it back to the vacuum island. I paid no attention to the driver; I just wanted to finish and move on.
Not 15 seconds into my vacuum time, I felt a presence behind me. When I say presence, I don't mean some weird supernatural ghostly cold air presence. Nope, just the feeling I get when another warm body is in my personal space. A creeper. I looked over my shoulder and was surprised to see a very plain looking man in his 40s standing nearly 20 feet away. I guess I overestimated his closeness. He waved at me, then returned his hand to his pocket and stood watching. Great. A man who comes to the car wash to watch 21-year-old art students as they bend over the seats to vacuum their messy cars. He just stood there, watching, waiting. I could see that his once-white polo shirt was a size too small, and his jeans were pleated. (Barf.)
The vacuum finally turned off, and I hung it back up, ready to abandon my car cleaning and speed off towards the mall a little early. "Being watched by weird man at car wash" is grounds for abandoning car-cleaning project and rewarding self early. Yes, definitely. However, when I turned around from hanging up the hose, he was standing right there. Right next to the trunk of my car.
"Nice car, this is. Give you any problems?"
Ohhh, he just wants to buy a Talon, he's just a clueless loser wanting to know about my car. Aww, I thought.
"No. Never. It's nice. But if you buy the 5-speed it's hard to get used to shifting because the seats are so low so the console seems higher."
"Oh." He pauses. "Hey, what size shoe do you wear, like a 6.5?"
What?? How did we get to this? And how the fuck did he know that? That is creepy.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Yeah. Why?"
"Oh, I thought so. I sell shoes. I can tell size just by looking."
Oh. He is just a little weird. Maybe trying to hit on me and not sure how.
I say nothing.
"Say...I have a pair of Keds in my trunk. They aren't used, they were a display pair. They are your size. Would you try them on for me?"
"Er, um, why?"
"Well, would you consider yourself an open-minded person?"
"Yes, of course. What does that have to do with Keds? I don't like them. I wore them all through grade school. They are skinny and pointy and ugly." I point to my Airwalk skater shoes.
"If I were to, say, go over to that store across the street and buy a Twinkie, would you put the Ked on and squish the Twinkie with it?"
OMGWTF this guy is some weird foot shoe crappy chemical dessert fetishist and I bet those Keds came off a corpse. Ew ew EWWW.
"Well...that's a little weird. For one thing, I hate Twinkies and I won't touch one. And I don't know if I want to put on an ugly little shoe that has been tried on by countless misguided women who still think white canvas Keds look good."
"I'll give you fifty dollars."
What? This dude has fifty bucks that he will give me to squash a nasty snack cake with an ugly shoe? What the hell has the world come to?
"I don't think so. I have to go...to, um, work." That was weak. Come on, tell the guy to fuck off already.
He looks at me.
"I thought you said you were open-minded," he whines.
"Yeah, I meant that in a human way, not a Keds way. Thanks, but, er...no thanks. Late for work. Have to go."
I jumped in my car and sped off. As I was turning out of the lot, he ran to the edge of the ditch separating it from the street.

Really. True story. Really happened. Me: scared little 21-year-old in a "penis car." Him: weird disgruntled shoe salesman or impostor of one with a weird combination fetish for food and Keds.

Creepier than when my apartment was burglarized.

1 comment:

Chloe said...

OMG - what a scary story!

Holy crap. Do you carry mace??