07.15.08
Positively Dickensian
A LADY RAPIST WANTS MY BLOOD
Let me explain.
Tonight at work I was aimlessly doodling. An older looking black woman was sitting around waiting for her To-Go order to be brought up. I DON'T KNOW HOW IT STARTED, I think I made the poor choice of making eye contact with her, but regardless, she starts chatting me up. She's all "I always come by here, but this is the first time I've ever come in." That should have been the first clue that she was a LADY RAPIST, but I am naive. I put on my "chit-chat" (an offshoot of my "speaking to adults" voice) and am like "Oh, haha, yeah, most people go to Chili's, it's a lot more popular." She nods and chuckles.
"This a summer job?" she asks, and I find myself thinking "SCOTT WHERE ARE YOU WITH THE CHALUPAS THIS WOMAN ORDERED" but I am polite and nod. She asks if I'm in school and I say yeah, she asks where, I say VCU. Stopping short of giving her my address, the deus ex machina phone rings and I go to answer it. As I walk over to the To-Go computer she comments on my doodle (which was really no more than a light sketch of a head) and says something about Face Painting.
I take the to go order. As I walk back, I inadvertantly DRIVE THE LAST NAIL IN TO THE COFFIN THAT WILL SOON CONTAIN MY CORPSE.
"Face painting?" I ask. She looks back up at me and goes "Oh yeah face painting, something something you can make 50 dollars an hour at it."
My brain immediately goes "BIIIIIING FIFTY DOLLARS!!!!" and I go "Woah, what?"
"I'm a clown, I work for [something something clown company i don't remember], and we do functions and get togethers and if you're interested in doing face painting, you wouldn't have to dress up or anything, just come and paint faces..."
There are several things wrong with that sentence. All of them contained in the words "I AM A CLOWN"
Instead of immediately backing away from this John-Wayne-Gacy-only-old-black-lady-with-striped-pants, I'm still all "BIIIIIIIN FIFTY DOLLARS!" so I foolishly FOOLISHLY, nod my head when she asks if I'm interested. She's like I'll come back and get your number another time or....actually...and gestures at the To-Go menu in her hand and I foolishly, FOOLISHLY, write down not only my FIRST AND LAST NAME, but my HOME PHONE NUMBER.
By this time, Scott has dropped off the To-Go. The woman tells me her name, Coretta, and waves good-bye as she leaves.
I'm still in a smug satisfaction at getting a fifty dollar an hour job offer when I turn back to finishing my doodle.
"What was THAT all about?" Scott wants to know. Kent, one of the servers is next to him.
"She saw my doodle and says she worka for this company that does face painting and it's fifty bucks an hour and so I gave her my number and-"
"NOOOOO!!!" they both throw up their hands in disgust, like they were watching baseball and somebody dropped a pop fly rather than a girl signing herself up for inadvertant LADY RAPE.
"Word of advice, if someone comes in saying stuff like that, don't give them any information. Did she give you any information on her?" Scott wants to know.
"No..." my elation is now dead and has been replaced with fear of LADY RAPE.
"Yeah, don't...don't ever do that."
"Did she get your name?" Kent asks.
"Yeah?"
"Do you have a MySpace or Facebook?"
"Facebook?"
"AW NO! tHAT'S IT, THAT'S THE END OF IT!" he throws his hands up again, "Next thing you know she'll be in here in like, a bikini or some shit." He shakes his head, "So young, so naive."
They both walk away leaving me in a panic. A LADY CLOWN RAPIST HAS MY NAME AND NUMBER. WHAT IF SHE TRACKS DOWN MY ADDRESS? WHAT IF I'M NOT HOME BUT CARLY IS AND SHE LADY RAPES CARLY BY MISTAKE? I COULD NEVER LIVE WITH THE GUILT.
I really really hope that a gust of wind blew that To-Go menu out of her hands and she doesn't ever call. How do I explain to my mom that if a woman calls asking for me, to tell whoever it is that I am dead and this is the wrong number?
As soon as Scott and Kent left I realized how right they were. My doodle that she was so impressed by, impressed enough to offer me some stupid face painting job for, was essentially a circle at that point. I am such a child. She gave me the creeps the whole time I was talking to her, but as soon as fifty dollars came up I didn't care and now there is A LADY CLOWN RAPIST PROBABLY LOOKING ME UP ON FACEBOOK RIGHT NOW. IAMGOINGTOBESICK!
ratherbored at 01:42