I went grocery shopping this morning, and while I was waiting on line to pay, not one, but two weirdos started talking to me. The first one was the guy behind me in line. He was checking out my food. I had like 6 Lean Cuisine entrees (I bring them to work for lunch), and he starts grinning and says “So, you like them?”. I wanted to say something like “Obviously I like them, otherwise I wouldn’t be buying them, weirdo” but I just said yes and smiled. I guess I shouldn’t have smiled, but I’ve been in a good mood lately, and I can’t help it. Anyway, I think me smiling made him think I liked him or something, so he kept talking. “Are they good? Do they look like that when you make them?”, etc. I was just kind of nodding, and luckily, it was my turn to put my things on the belt, so I did it real slow, not making any more eye contact. The guy in front of me turns, and since I am facing him now, eye contact with this nutbag was unavoidable. He looks right at me and says “What would you do if Saddam Hussein asked you to poison your neighbors?”
What kind of question is that? What kind of mental patient says things like that to strangers? Is that how you start a conversation? I didn’t know what else to say, so I just said “I’d probably say no,” and looked away. He kept talking though (rambling, really), and I kind of half turned away, only to realize the other weirdo was standing like six inches away from me, still grinning. Luckily for me, the Saddam guy didn’t have any coupons or anything, and he grabbed his bags and walked off. I ran around back to bag my own stuff, and got out of there as fast as I could.
I work downtown and what just happened to you at the grocery store happens to me every single day. There are a lot of homeless people and also just plain nuts who actually have homes wandering the streets near where I work. Not one day passes that at least 2 of them come up and try to strike a conversation up with me. At first it was annoying, to say the least, but now it’s getting to be mundane. The only thing that truly aggravates me is when they try to bum money or cigarettes off me. They start off with a hardluck story (and trust me, I have heard all of them) and wind up with the punchline, but usually by that time I have begun walking away. Sometimes I have just been standing out by my building, and several of them will try to talk to me…and most of them always act like they know me or something. It’s getting to be a joke around the office that I am so familiar with the street people. I even know some of their names! I don’t like being rude any more than the next guy, but sometimes, you just have to be. Otherwise I’d be stuck for hours out there listening to Otis tell me as soon as he gets on his feet, we’re going to go out and party. Otis dresses like Michael Jackson in 1982, is about 50ish, and gets off on rambling discussions about why he rides a bike everywhere. He’s harmless…I think, but just a pest.
Anyway, I know how you felt…I get that feeling every day. Gets old, too.
Oh, geez, I’m sorry! So much for the advice in those articles about how to meet women at the grocery store. I suppose I shouldn’t try chatting with you about your clothes at the laundromat either.
Am I the only one who would have been flattered if people talked to me in the grocery line? Even weird ones. Heck, they’re more interesting than other people.
Oh Blu, I’ve lived in your bad-boy neighborhood and I’m not surprised. Our downstairs neighbor when I lived on Beach St. (near St. Anne’s Hospital, off 138) used to talk to us EVERY time we came in or out of the building. She was soooo weird. She used to ask if we saw the “hussy” across the street changing without shutting her shades. Heehee!
OH man, I know that feeling, I used to wonder what on earth I did to deserve to be the weirdo magnet. Your story instantly reminded me of a guy that followed me around the grocery store a few years ago insisting I try some frozen mac and cheese thing because they were on sale, I was freaked to say the least. I hate when people (weirdo strangers) talk to me, too, although I admit I got used to it after living in PA for 3 years, if I hadn’t I might have gone mad.
I am one of those wierdos. I hate it when people talk to me, but I love torturing people in grocery stores.
Usually, I harass older people by standing really close behind them and breathing down their necks when they take a million years trying to decide if the lima beans are cheaper when they’re 3 for 99 cents or 33 cents apiece. God, I hate that. Look, lady, stand back and admire the canned veggies from a distance, so I can grab my can of grren beans! Another one I like is when someone is blocking the middle of the aisle (grrrr!)and headed my way, I’ll park my cart right in front of them and then walk up and down the aisle doing my shopping until they have to move my cart. Then I stare at them like they just spit on me or something and follow them around the store for a while.
I usually don’t torture innocents…unless I’m in a belligerent mood.
I think I’m a weirdo magnet too. If there are any old people in my vicinity while I’m waiting in line in a public place, they will hunt me down and tell me about their knitting, their corns, their doctors, or their diabetes. It’s a regular thing for a 70+ person to approach me at the Food Lion and explain to me exactly why Dr. Scholl’s are most successful in the fight against hammertoes.
My mom has the same problem. I guess we look nice.
Homeless people love me too. I’ve got one guy, Crackpipe Ethel, who worships the ground I walk on. I buy him a cup of coffee if I see him outside the Daily Grind. He has a talking nun puppet - she’s the one who told me to call him Crackpipe Ethel. Most of the other homeless people just ask politely for change and ignore me otherwise, but Crackpipe Ethel knows me by name - well, he calls me Sharon, which is pretty close to Sarah - and always tries to hug me.
i got on the bus once and sat down facing a pretty nondescript guy, and we made eye contact. he said “how you doing?” real casual, and i said “fine, you?” and he assumed this ghost-story monotone and said something that began with “twelve years ago i was in a motorcycle accident that destroyed my vocal chords” and went from that to unintelligible speech to an unending series of moans and wails. he trailed off when i changed seats.
a girl asked if she could eat with me at a fast food place, and that was pretty interesting. she wasn’t crazy, she just didn’t like to eat by herself. gave me a sketch from her sketchbook. sometimes i wish i grew up in a small town so i could just openly stare at any strangers with my mouth hanging open, safe in the knowledge that every other local in the place was doing the same thing. you lose that in big cities. it just makes your internal compass spin.
I don’t get the wierdos as much, and even panhandlers don’t bother me much, never had an aggressive, threatening one.
What I DO get is requests for directions. Always. Wherever I am. A thousand miles from home, where I have only the semblance of a clue. From total strangers, who pass other people to ask ME. I give them, but do I have a directions sign over my head?
(note: I do not mind giving them to friends, or fellow Dopers at dopefests)
