It’s a slow night, and I’m the only customer in the shop except for two people who already have their meals. I’m waiting at the bread station and as the other customers are paying, a rather creepy man walks in and stands in front of me, staring at me with a grin. I shake my head with a sarcastic smile, but he doesn’t move.

Creepy Customer: “Hey, enjoy your meal. That’s what matters, right?”

I sigh and decide to ignore him since I know the waitress saw me and will attend to me first, which she does. I order my sandwich; she prepares it and then proceeds to ask the man what he wants.

Creepy Customer: *Blankly* “Uh, whatcha have?”

The waitress calmly explains every type of meat and bread they have, including the Italian bread.

Creepy Customer: “I’d rather have an Italian girl, right, right?” *Smirks*

This goes on through his whole order, which takes about six minutes while I patiently wait for the — even more patient than me — waitress to finish with his order and cash me in. As I’m paying, the creepy customer suddenly just leaves without his sandwich, leaving the waitress helpless. I decide to give her a tip, which is very uncommon in France, with what’s left of my money.

Me: *Hands her the tip* “That’s for how patient and calm you were with that idiotic jerk.”

Waitress: “Oh, God. Thank you. You know what? I’m actually happy he left. I don’t want to know what he was planning to say when he’d pay.”

This story is part of the Waitstaff roundup!

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I am a French Canadian woman visiting Paris as a tourist. I am traveling by myself. I have never boarded a plane in my life before. I have never even set foot into an airport. Unfortunately, between my anxiety due to the novelty of the experience and turbulences, I’ve felt sick during most of the flight and have gotten no rest.

Adding jetlag to the equation, I’m far from my best upon arrival, so I decide to take it easy and explore the area close to my hotel on foot. I head for the Basilica of Sacré-Coeur and start climbing the long stairs in front. I try to figure out where I am supposed to enter as I am climbing, but I see no indication. A group of young men is sitting in the grass. One of them gets up and walks confidently towards me, so confidently that I’m starting to wonder if he is a volunteer for the Basilica.

He addresses me in several languages for some reason while I’m trying to figure out why he is there. He then makes a sign for me to put one hand in front of me, which I do. He gets what seems like a simple sewing thread spool out of his pocket and makes a gesture to put it around my middle finger.

As if hit by lightning, I suddenly get extremely uncomfortable at the idea of a stranger attaching anything to my body. Without thinking, I bolt away. He calls me back, but I only glance behind to make sure he is not following me while scrambling away from him as fast as I can.

The experience leaves me completely puzzled. I later ask a French friend in Paris if he has any idea what that was about and he is as clueless as I am.

Five years later, I am browsing videos at random on the Internet, from dashcam scams to tourist scams. I finally stumble on an intriguing video. It turns out that this was a variant of the “Friendship Bracelet Scam” in Montmartre, only in my case it was apparently a ring variation. If I had let him string my finger, he would have harassed me for money or one of his friends could have tried to steal from me. At last, I can make sense of what took place. As far as I can tell, this scam had yet to be widely documented at the time of my trip.

I am slightly mad at myself that I let him even approach me. I use an anti-theft bag whenever I know I might find myself distracted in a crowded area at home and take even more precautions when I travel without anyone to rely on. However, I am also very relieved that my instincts kicked in just in time to keep me out of harm’s way even if it took place in a moment I was, understandably, not as alert as usual.

The lesson I derived from the experience is that I’m likely to be most vulnerable right upon arrival. Two years later, a fake and insistent taxi driver in a New York airport also got me confused before I ever got a chance to see the multiple written warnings everywhere, but again, I escaped him and gathered my thoughts in a restroom. I’ve yet to have anything unsettling happen to me after the first day of a trip!

I am a young, rather busty female working in a coffee shop. An older guy comes in and I take his order.

Guy: “I’m looking at the artwork on your shirt. I’m not looking at your anatomy.”

Me: “Uh…”

This happens many years ago when I am a wee lass working as a sales associate at a discount clothing store. I am merrily straightening out hangers in my department, when a relatively pleasant man in his mid-thirties comes up and asks if we sell bike shorts. I show him to the men’s section and he grabs a few athletic-type shorts and asks if I could help him further by making a recommendation. He wants me to follow him into the men’s fitting room.

My spidey-sense starts tingling and I tell him that female associates are not allowed in the mens’ fitting rooms during business hours — not true. He seems disappointed but maintains a polite demeanor and proceeds to tell me how he lost a bet and now he has to wear tight biker shorts for a week. He then asks me if he could have my opinion on whether or not he looks stupid in them. 

He isn’t making much sense, because he is just holding the athletic — not biker shorts — in his hand and I am trying to figure out what this whole ploy is. Before I get a chance to say anything, he drops his pants, right in the middle of the store. Luckily for me, he is wearing biker shorts, but is sporting a very obvious… ahem… engorged member.

I give him a skeptical look and just say, “Ummm, I think they are too tight,” and walk away. He stands there for a while with his pants around his ankles, looking disappointed. I think he wanted to get a bigger reaction out of me. 

I tell my manager, who notifies the police. Apparently, there were a few other businesses reporting the same flasher harassing young girls. I think he got caught eventually.

It’s been ten years since this incident and I’m still amused and confused by this situation.

My friends have invited me to drag night to see their friend sing and dance in a competition for amateur drag queens. I’m not a fan of loud music or clubs so I suggest that I drive so they can have a few drinks, and I bring a book along so I can be supportive but also have a break if it gets too overwhelming.

I’m sitting against the wall reading my book when a man in his late twenties comes and sits next to me.

Man: “Hi there.”

Me: “Hi, what’s up?”

Man: “I just noticed you over here and thought I’d come and say hi.”

Me: “Oh, well, hi.”

Man: “How are you enjoying the show?”

Me: “It’s interesting. The costumes are pretty cool.”

Man: “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how long has it been?”

Me: “I’ve never been to one of these shows before.”

Man: “No, sorry, I mean… Y’know, how long has it beeeeeeen?”

Me: “I don’t understand.”

Man: “Since you started transitioning? You look great.”

Me: “Um… I was born this way?”

The man very quickly stood up and walked into the crowd.

I asked my friends later what was going on and they explained that he was trying to hit on me. My innocent, twenty-one-year-old brain had no idea.