Yesterday I was sitting at the bus stop near my house when a guy came and sat on the bench by me. He launched into a story about how much he loves wearing lilac tights, but he said it in such a way that I couldn't tell whether he was crazy or just pretending to be so. Either way, he was pretty amusing.
To understand this next part of the story, you have to keep in mind that I can't lie, and I'm very bad at evading direct questions. Thus, when he asked where I worked, I went ahead and told him the building. It's pretty big and has lots of different kinds of offices in it, so I thought it wouldn't be too identifying. But then he said, "Oh yeah, you work on the sixth floor, right?" That's right, but I don't know how he knew it. I've never seen him there, and he later told me that he has a restraining order preventing him from entering this building. So I don't know if he just guessed correctly or if there's something creepier afoot. At any rate, I was a bit freaked out by this.
Fortunately, the bus came soon after that, and he didn't get on it. Before that, though, he commented on my whiteness, pointed out how much darker his skin was than mine, and asked if I found "dark-complected men" attractive. (Incidentally, this is the not the first time someone has tried to pick me up at the bus stop by asking me this question. Who knew it would be such a popular approach?) I got on the bus without answering because I didn't want to tell him the truth, which is that---well, just take a look at my recent blog entry over here.
Crazy guys, on the other hand, are not attractive to me. Sorry, crazies of the world, but I'm going to shoot you down every time, regardless of whether you've got awesome lilac tights or not.