Monday, August 20, 2007

Geezer Pervs

Seriously, what is the deal with pervy old farts? Do I have "talk dirty to me you salacious old fuck" tattooed on my forehead or what?

I have long history, some of which my friends misguidedly find funny, with dirty old men bothering me. It has not changed any as I have aged; the pervs have just gotten older.

One of my most creepy experiences was when I went to see Silence of the Lambs with some friends. I’m sitting in the very crowded movie theatre, minding my own business, trying not to be too much of a wimp, as I am not a scary movie person. An older man, like grandpa age, comes and sits next to me, and I think nothing of it until I realize he has thrown his coat over both our laps, is trying to "touch" me, and get my hand into his lap. I aggressively crossed my legs, threw his coat on the floor, elbowed him in the ribs, and stage whispered to my friend "this creepy old dude is trying to touch me!" My friend's husband laughed, I wanted to punch him too. Several people around us were horrified, and the old dude picked up his coat, and high tailed it up the aisle and out of there at a surprising rate of speed for such a geriatric case.

My apartment where I lived the whole time after I left home was really cute, and I liked it there. Across the driveway lived a little old man and a little old lady. They seemed nice enough. The lady used to make me laugh telling me stories about her kids and grand kids. We were friendly with each other; it was a friendly neighborhood in general. One time the lady got excited to answer the door when her grandchildren came to visit, she hurried too fast, slid on the welcome mat, and shattered her elbow on the door frame. She was in the hospital and rehab for quite some time. While she was away, I, and several other neighbors, helped the little old man with stuff he never had to do before, like work the stove, and washing machine. A couple years later, the little old man had a very serious car accident. He did not brake in time as he approached an intersection where the light had just turned red. He had to be cut out of his car by the firemen. This was between Christmas and New Year’s one year.

He was upset because they had just bought the car that fall, and they cut off the coat he had gotten for Christmas. What really pissed him off, was lying on the ground in his "undershorts" in the snow while they stabilized him to go to the hospital. Anyway, all along the little old man would tell me I was pretty, or sexy, or looked nice, or my boyfriend was lucky, or tell my boyfriend he was lucky, etcetera, blah, blah, blah. I thought nothing of it, as I am pretty, and my boyfriend was lucky. The two biggest flirts in the free world raised me, so I thought nothing of considering such compliments as merely passingly friendly, and wholeheartedly innocuous. One night, in the midst of my parents’ illnesses, I made myself some cappellini with butter and fresh grated Romano cheese. Real food from a pot, not a box, alone, at a table, with no one to take care of, and nothing to do but chew. As I sat there at my kitchen table, in front of my beautiful thirty two divided light picture window, I noticed a flash of light and looked up to see my neighbor across the driveway in his kitchen, all the lights blazing, buck naked, masturbating like he was getting paid for it, and staring dead at me. I spit out the food I had in my mouth, closed the blinds, which I did not open again until they moved a year later, and checked all the locks on the doors and windows. I called the police. They said I could have him arrested. I felt sorry for him. I thought he must have lost a few too many marbles or something, so I did not have him arrested. Then I later found out he had been making a habit of doing similar things for years. Too bad the neighbors never mentioned THAT at the block watch meetings, huh?

So, recently, I am sitting on the beach thinking maybe I will go to Vegas because it is probably cooler there. In the midst of the freakish heat wave, I like many people am taking every opportunity for hydrating. I am enjoying a nice watermelon flavored shaved ice, and thumbing through a stack of magazines I drag around in my car. I swear I am minding my own business when I little old dude, soon to be revealed as a big fat pervo, comes and sits at the picnic table with me. He starts talking about the weather, blah, blah, blah. I am politely uh huhing as I read my old Vanity Fairs, and my parents’ AARP magazine that is still coming. They have a really good crossword puzzle, by the way. As I am flipping through a magazine, the geezer dude notices something that catches his eye. He goes; "ooh naked people," "I like naked people pictures." I showed him; nope it is not naked people, just a make-up ad. He then goes on and on about naked people. I tell him that I would think people should not talk about naked people in front of kids, of which a whole gaggle was sitting all around us. He STILL did not shut up, until I pointed out you can get arrested for exposing kids to such conversation.

Seriously, what the fuck!?

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