My Face Is Up Here, And My Age Is Way Down There

(I’m sixteen, Catholic, and a virgin. I feel a tad uncomfortable talking about romantic matters in a work setting, let alone sexual matters; my face quickly becomes a tomato. Unfortunately, I have a larger chest size, but my face is definitely too young to look older than twenty. In short, I’m not someone you’d think one would try to aggressively flirt with. A 50- to 60-year-old man is placing an order as I’ve just gotten off shift. I don’t have my license yet; my mom’s supposed to pick me up in a few minutes to take me home to my brother’s First Communion party. She texts me she’s going to be late, so I use my employee meal to get a snack and sit down at a table to wait. Then, the older man sees me.)

Old Man: *staring directly at my chest, speaking seductively* “I like what I see up there, sweetie. Do you want to, perhaps, come over later?”

Me: *very uncomfortable* “Um… I–” *grimaces in discomfort and panic*

(The grimace eventually catches his attention, because his followup question has a note of panic in it.)

Old Man: “Wait. How old are you?” *still staring at certain parts”

Me: *a bit too loud due to panic* “Sixteen! I’m sixteen!”

Old Man: *now embarrassed* “Oh. Never mind, then.”

(Every one of my coworkers who was on shift laughed at me for my reaction. I suppose failing to appreciate the flirtatious endeavors of someone forty years older than you is hilarious. I hope I never see that guy again; he made me feel small and gross, like a used toy.)