How to let him know you can’t love him like he deserves
I am a creature of routine. Every morning, I stop at the same gas station on the way to work to get my coffee or snacks or gas. Yes, I know this is a frivolous expense. I decided to cut corners elsewhere, OK? Back off.
Anyway, let’s get back on point. At the same gas station, there’s a man who thinks I am the love of his life. Well, he thinks I am and every other woman that comes in there is, too.
I’m not sure if he’s drunk or on crack or just extremely horny. Regardless, he doesn’t seem to want to take no as an answer. I have tried letting him down gently and I have tried telling him to f**k off. Nothing will throw this man off of his intense mission to find a mate at the Circle K.
My first attempt to shake him off went like this. He moseyed up behind me as I waited in line at the gas station, Cheezy Puffs in hand. He got extremely close to me standing in line and I could smell his beer breath on my neck. Every woman’s favorite.
He put his ice cold, forty ounce Natural Ice on my back, which was showing at the top of my dress, causing me to jump and yell, “Fucktard!” He then proceeded to apologize and segued straight into asking me if I wanted to fornicate behind the dumpster. Has there ever been a more beautiful moment?
But, alas, I was/am married. I just asked him, “Who the hell do you think you are?” Before he could answer, I scurried off to my job as this happened at 7:30 in the morning.
He tried again a week later. This time, it was right after work. I popped in to buy a bottle of wine and a lottery ticket. I finished my transaction and was about to walk out the door when I heard him slur, “Hey, girl! You want to give Daddy a dollar?”
I looked around, but saw no one who seemed to be his father. At this point, I started to get annoyed. I mean, who pretends to beg for his father? Still, being the southern lady that I am, I just told him to fuck off and went about my day.
About a month later, I popped into my gas station and this time I was in a bad mood. Picture the witch song from The Wizard of Oz playing as I walked in. It was definitely playing in my head. I was in a straight bitch mood. Which kind of excuses me from my behavior when Dingleberry hits on me again.
This time I can’t remember what he said exactly. I do remember he smelled like beer, pork rinds, and body odor. I just brushed past him, saying, “I’m married, but I’m only attracted to turtles anyway so you will never have a chance.”
I was such a bitch.
The next day. I was back and I felt bad. I also felt disgusted. This guy was starting to get on my nerves. I told him I was married, but he didn’t care. I didn’t go to the gas station to get harassed.
I walked in and got my coffee. I stood in a small line waiting my turn to check out. I checked out.
Looking around, I didn’t see him, hear him, or smell him. Growing concerned, I looked around and left.
I have been back for thirteen days straight trying to find this drunk lunatic. I would like to tell him he doesn’t have a chance with me. I would also like to slap him for making me worry. Where is he? Is he okay? Is he thinking about me?