______________Two things you should know about me: I love the color purple and I love my purple converse shoes. ------------------->
I went down to Fort Collins today. As I'm standing in line at the store, with my items in tow, the elderly man ahead of me turns around and asks how I am doing. I respond that I am doing well.
He then proceeds to tell me about his son, who is a musician in California. My thoughts go on panic mode as I begin to process in my mind all of the horrible things people have said to before when bringing up their children. He then begins talking about how his son absolutely loves Converse shoes, and whenever he comes to visit him, they must go out to buy another pair.
I agree that the shoes are indeed wonderful. He comments that he has not seen many purple pairs around. I tell him, yes, that is correct, but man do I love my shoes. The checker continues to run his items through the scanner, listening to everything we say, whilst there is a growing line behind us.
He stops talking. I breathe easy. Then he asks, while stepping rather close to me:
"How old are you?"
I respond with my age.
He tells me that his son is fifty one (insert scream here) then he tells me that sadly, his grandchildren are also too old for me.
Then he shimmy's up even closer and tells me proudly:
"I'm eighty!"
And how do you respond to that? I feign shock and tell him, who knew, I'd never guess his age.
After wishing me a great day, he is on his way. Thank the good Lord.
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I really don't like shoe salesmen. I find them to be annoying. They follow you around, pester you, and push you to buy their shoes. I on the other hand, like to browse. Yes, I am in the market for new shoes, but when my rolly poly salesman came up to me, I was subjected to a man who liked to converse and who was so large in size that once he sat down, he would not move until absolutely necessary.
After giving me shoes to try on, he asked if I am a Nurse (perhaps you can tell what profession one is in by the shoes they are buying) I respond that I am working my way into it.
He goes on to tell the tale of a friend of his who is a surgical nurse, who back in the "days of disco" took care of a man who broke his leg while boogying on the dance floor.
My salesman goes on to tell me that this man with the broken leg was adamant that the staff not take off his pants, no matter what. They then drugged him and discovered the reason why he was struggling with all his might with the staff.
He had taped, within his inner leg a "summer sausage", to "give him more bulge".
(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Why, tell me WHY any person, let alone a complete stranger would think it okay to share this story?
Not okay. Totally awkward. No, no, no.
No.
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