Unfiltered Story #67442

(I’ve never really considered myself a “pretty” girl. And most definitely not while I’m at work, with the stupid uniform, stupid hat, stupid ponytail and stupid glasses. But apparently, pigs will take what they can get. So I’m working the register at work and all is going well until THIS guy comes in.)

Me: “Hi, what can I get for you?”

(He eyes me up and down nice and slow and smirks.)

Him: “You sure you wanna ask me that question?”

(BAM, I get the f@#%ing willies. But I laugh, play dumb and brush it off)

Me: “Ha, maybe not, but we have to, lol”

(I obviously didn’t SAY “lol” but you get the drift. I attempt to continue.)

Me: “So what can we make for you?”

(He’s still just staring at me with that creepy-a$$ smirk.

It’s an awkward silence.)

Him: “You look like you’ve had a long night.” (In a very gross/flirty voice.)

(I can feel my blood curdling. The whole time, I’m keeping my head down so as not to make eye contact.)

Me: “Yea, but mostly just a slow night, so boring. But what can I get for you?”

(I’m INTENSELY eyeing the register screen, just wishing he would order his f@#%ing food and go the f@#% AWAY.

He finally orders ONE sandwich, like what took so long?! But I’m just happy that it’ll be over soon and this creep can go blow himself. And then it happens.)

Him: “So when can you come out to dinner with me?”

(WHAT

IN

ALL

THE

F@#%S!?

I hit panic mode like a brick wall. No one ever tells you to be prepared for some f@#%wad to hit on you while you’re at work. I was completely unprepared and I panicked like a fish on sandpaper. Now, I can think of SOOO many things I COULD have said that would have ended it then and there, but when you’re in panic mode, logic goes out the window and stupidity abounds.)

Me: “Ha! Can’t. Yea, my schedule is. . . Heheh, pretty packed. I have doctor’s appointments. . . Work. . .”

(I’m just trying desperately to remember things that would pack my schedule.)

Him: “So we’ll work around it. We’ll go for breakfast or coffee.”

(F@#%.

ME.

Obviously this guy isn’t giving up. And he sounds so sure of himself, like HE was the man and therefore my thoughts or feelings didn’t matter. But I suddenly get an Idea. I’ll ask for HIS number and then just never call him. Problem solved. So I did.

I give him a piece of blank receipt paper, he writes his number and hands it back. Good. Great. Now go @#% yourself with a rusty corkscrew. But is that the end? Oh noooo, no, no, no.)

Him: “Now give me a piece of paper with YOUR number on it.”

(FFFFFF@@@@@@######%%%%%%!!!!!!!!!

My heart hit my stomach and I felt like throwing up. It’s been like three minutes and I’m already sweating like I’m under a heat lamp. But there was no way out! At least not in panic mode, anyway. My logical side was M.I.A.

As the pen hits the paper, my mind is racing while my stomach is churning.)

My Brain: “Make up a number, give him your brother’s number, give him a fake number! But then. . . That wouldn’t be very honest, now would it?”

(So I wrote MY number.

_< I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate myself. >_<

As I pass him the paper, I can feel my soul being signed over to the devil.

He maintains that creepy, nasty smirk the entire time.)

Him: “Okay, I’ll give you a call.”

(I try to laugh it off again.)

Me: “Okay, but You’ve been warned, I’m SUPER busy. lol”

(Again, point-across-getting “lol”. Now after someone orders food, they get to stand around and wait for it. I was NOT going to give him all that time to stare at me, so I ran to the back and switched with the person on grill.)

Me: “Just switch me, I’ll explain later, you’ll understand then, go, go, go.”

(So anyway, the whole rest of the night I’m having a full blown panic attack trying to think of ANY way I can fix this giant pickle that I’m suddenly in. Give his number to a few of my guy friends and have them rip him a new one? Let my brother answer the phone when the dude calls me? Change my number? Dye my hair, change my name and move to Canada?

Also the freaking creepier things about the whole thing. He never even asked if I was single. He never even asked my name or gave his. AND he never even asked how old I was. And I LOOK 15 and he was WELL into his late thirties or forties. F@#%ing creeper!

In the end, my good friend Reese came through for me.

He called the guy.

Reese: “So a few things about the girl you got the number from today. 1, she’s my girlfriend. 2, her contract’s up at the end of the month so don’t bother calling. 3, the only reason you have it is because she has trouble lying. And 4, keep your pedo a$$ away from my girl, shes only 17, got it? Of course you do, now hang the f@#% up.”

(He says the guy mumbled something all sheepish and hung up.

This was about a year ago and I haven’t seen or heard from the creep since.)