College-aged Hobos

So… the other day… I think someone was trying to hit on me.

Maybe. I’m not sure. I really can’t tell. I know nothing about these things.

I’ve always been horrible at reading guys. Women I can read no problem. I instantly know when there’s an issue, or an underlying grudge, or a massive cat-fight about to ensue. Guys on the other hand? Nothing. Nada. No flippin’ clue what’s going on in those fuzzy noggins of theirs.

Because I’m so horrible at reading guys, it causes major issues when trying to decipher their true intent. Are they flirting or just being nice? Did they just ask me out or was that a mutual invitation they extend to everyone? Did he mean to wink at me or does he have Tourette’s? Are they angling for a kiss or just leaning in for a friendly ol’ side hug?

You would be amazed and appalled at how many possible relationships I have eschewed due to my absolute cluelessness of the opposite sex. It’s sad really. And a lot funny. Oh, the stories I could tell…

When friends would point out a guy checking me out, I would laugh as though it was the most nonsensical thing I had ever heard. When I would tell them about my uneventful dates, they would bang their heads against the wall, horrified that I hadn’t been able to read the bright red flashing cues the guys were giving me. I seriously needed a man manual. That I could bring on dates with me. And copiously reference from beginning to end. Seriously, the stories I could tell…

Anyway, I like to think I’ve gotten better at reading man cues after being married for the past six years. But I wouldn’t bet on it. I’m pretty dumb when it comes to men.

So, when I stopped at the store for Oreos and gum, I got in line behind a slovenly twenty-something college student. (I’m assuming he was in college. He looked pretty young.) I thought nothing of it, until he did a double take when I got into line behind him and then stood facing me. (In his defense, I did look particularly hawt that day wearing my librarian glasses, boyfriend jeans, ankle boots and off the shoulder 80s-rific sweatshirt. I’m lying. I looked really scrubby that day. Like I had a hot date with my laundry basket… which I did, thank you for asking.) He stood staring at me (quite awkwardly for what seemed like forever while I tried to avoid eye contact because I didn’t know what was happening and why he was staring…) and then started talking about… batteries.

Yes. Batteries.

Why do rechargeable batteries cost so much extra? Aren’t they just like the regular batteries except you can recharge them? I mean, they don’t even come with a charger, so why charge more? And most people aren’t going to spend time recharging them… blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Dude. I don’t care. Are you seriously talking to me about batteries right now? Really? I just want my Oreos and gum. I didn’t say that of course. Instead I defaulted to my typical smile and laugh move which I use any time I don’t understand what is happening. So, I smiled and laughed and said something like, “Hm… that’s a really good question…”  (Good grief, even when I’m nowhere near a classroom, I still sound like a teacher.)

Then he stood there staring again. Not saying anything. Me looking past him, avoiding eye contact, feeling ridiculously awkward.

And then it was his turn in line. Praise the Lord. Hallelujah. Amen.

But he kept trying to talk to me. While the clerk was trying to talk to him. I wanted to die. It was so awkward. I hate awkward. It makes me want to flee the premises and wait for it to be over.

Finally, he left and I stood there wondering, “Was he trying to hit on me?”.  I honestly don’t know the answer to that question. Was he just some horribly socially awkward dude in need of a friend and human contact? Or was he a horribly socially awkward college student who doesn’t know how to flirt? I have no idea. I have no idea what that entire situation even meant. I don’t understand. I’m so confused. It’s so… weird.

And then, as I was paying for my Oreos and gum, I felt horrified and creepy because if that had been some lame attempt to flirt, then… WHAT THE HELL?! A college student?! How old do I look?! He probably wondered why he hadn’t seen me in any of his classes. Good grief. Apparently, I look like I’m 18 years old. I’d take it as a compliment if he had been hot. But he wasn’t. He was dressed like a hobo who had just rolled out of bed after sleeping on a greasy pizza all night. Apparently, that’s the kind of guy I attract. College-aged hobos. If he had been trying to flirt with me, it actually made me feel worse about myself. Maybe he saw how scrubby I looked and it was love at first sight. I don’t know. The whole situation was horrifying.

I blame my ex for all of this.



One thought on “College-aged Hobos

  1. Jana says:

    I know this feeling well. When I left The Loser, I got a call out of the blue from a guy I went to elementary school with. It turns out that he worked in the records office of the Mormon church (I was born a Mormon – but since I was 17 I’ve not been a church-goer). He saw my record come through after my divorce (those Mormons really keep track of their members). Since he saw that I was now single and he apparently had the hots for me in 4th grade, he gave me a call. I seriously had to break out my tiny yearbook to look him up – I had no clue who he was. But I figured, what the heck – I might as well go on a date. So I dressed really nice and after he picked me up, he let me know we were going to play mini-golf. Seriously – you couldn’t have told me this earlier so I could have worn jeans? We had a decent time and, at the end of the date, it got all awkward. It had been awhile since I had dated and I wasn’t sure of the protocol – a hug? Kiss? Handshake? He also seemed to be unsure of how to proceed – so I finally said, “Are you going to kiss me or what?”

    Needless to say, he didn’t ever call me again.

    Liked by 1 person

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