Ever had one of those weeks where you're a freak magnet? I seem to be having one right now. Here are my freak stories in order of appearance (all of these stories are going to start out with, "I was minding my own business..."):
Two days ago I was minding my own business while putting gas in my car. Suddenly a *very* friendly guy materialized out of nowhere and walked up to me with a big smile on his face as he called out, "Hey there!" So friendly was he that I thought for a moment that I knew him. It wasn't until he busted out his cleaning solution spray bottle--the kind they use at NASCAR, apparently--that I realized I did not know him at all. He proceeds to start spraying my car (without asking) and cleaning certain areas to demonstrate the superior cleaning power of his NASCAR product. Mind you, there could have just been water in that bottle, for all I knew, but why split hairs?
I considered making a joke about feeling like I'd been transported to a stop light in the seedier part of Baltimore but thought better of it.
Anyway, he continues talking and cleaning and I notice he has a trainee watching his every move. Apparently his parent company thought that he had some mad sales skills. Every time he sprayed another area, he'd hand me the bottle to hold, as if I was going to examine it in all its greatness. At one point I burst out laughing (at him, I admit) but he didn't seem to get the joke. Finally he revealed the price: $25 for a bottle and with that bottle you get five, count them, FIVE full washes that you get to do yourself! I didn't want to burst his bubble by pointing out the car wash not ten feet away that will do the exact same thing without my having to lift a finger. I just looked at the bottle, then the car wash, then politely declined.
Super Sales Guy immediately looked past me as if I were of no further interest to him (because I wasn't!) and walked off towards his next sucker.
I headed toward the car wash.
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Yesterday I was minding my own business, walking from the bathroom to the living room when some guy opened up my front door and poked his head in. "Hello?" he called out. "Oh hi," he said when he saw me. I stopped dead in my tracks and blocked him from coming in. All 5'2" of me.
So stunned was I that I just stared at him. Encouraged, he started babbling.
"I noticed that you are getting new carpet installed and I know the builder of this house and I was going to ask the carpet guys for the remnants. You see, I use them for my dogs to lay on so that they don't have to lay on the hard floor (insert syrupy, animal loving smile here). I know the builder and he doesn't mind when I ask for remnants--I do it all the time. I was just driving by when I saw the workers' trucks. Actually, I saw them this morning but I couldn't stop then so I came back. Anyway, if they have remnants I sure will take them because I know the builder."
"The builder?" I asked, none-too-friendly. "Do you think this house is under construction?"
"Well I assume they are just finishing up..." Seeing the look on my face, his voice trailed off.
"This house is NOT new, in fact, we have been living here for ten years! This is our private home and you are scaring me. There is a baby here (
why did I say that?!?) and you shouldn't be walking into our house!"
"Oh, well, I didn't mean to scare you. I just saw the workers' tools here so I was going to knock but then figured it would be okay to poke my head in and call out to them. You see? I didn't even come inside. I mean, the builder is my friend and all..."
"Okay, look, we want to keep our remnants, thank you, and this house is not under construction, okay?" I put my hand on the door knob to indicate that the door was about to be closed in his face.
"No problem...maybe you ought to lock the door..."
(sound of door shutting in his face)
What chafes me is that I get a lot of flack for locking my house up like Fort Knox (hey, I'm a DC girl at heart) and the ONE TIME the door is unlocked some creep tries to walk in. The door was unlocked because the workers kept having to go out to their truck and tools and it made no sense to keep locking the door on them. Plus, we have a front gate that usually deters people from coming into our front yard. What scares me is that had it been 30 seconds earlier, I would have been in the bathroom and this creep probably would have walked into my house. What scares me more is that Little Husband was asleep in the corner of the living room.
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Today I was at the grocery store, picking out some food and minding my own business when some older man starts following me back to my cart. "You know," he said eyeing the prepackaged mashed potatoes in my hand, "my wife makes mashed potatoes from scratch and they are the best on the planet. You really should try making them fresh instead of buying the premade ones."
Seriously? Did some dude really just give me, a harried mother with a seven-month-old in tow, flack about buying ready-made food?
"Actually, they're free." I told him.
"They--they are?" Bewildered, his head whips around to the mashed potato display and he begins madly reading the sign above them.
"Yes. If you buy 2 lbs of chicken breast, the mashed potatoes are free. I bought 2 lbs of chicken so I'm getting my free mashed potatoes."
Recovering, he stands a little taller and starts in on his sermon again. "Well my wife makes them from scratch..."
"So do I," I interrupted, "But these are free so it made sense to take them."
Undeterred, he kept talking. "And you can buy whatever potato you want because it won't matter, my wife's mashed potatoes are still better than yours."
"Okay, well I'm sure you're right." I said patronizingly as I backed away.
What gives? I mean really--what gives? Am I wearing some sort of sign?
