Staring Guy: No Water Refill Is Worth This

Jennifer is getting married.

So what do you do when your friend is getting married? You have a bachelorette dealie.

I have had a traumatic experience at a bachelorette party before. And therefore, I avoid them like the plague. But Becky and I wanted to do something special for Jen, and that became a bachelorette party. Minus the food shaped like body parts, because eww.

Also, minus other traumatic things.

Instead, we went to dinner.

We sat down at the restaurant, the waitress brought us menus and took our drink orders. That was when I noticed the water-guy.

He was standing by this wall partition thing, kind of like a pillar, but not round. And every once and a while, he would lean his head out from around the pillar, and stare.

I have told you about the freaks and weirdos I attract.

It's true. I attract the strangest people. If a crowd of men were assembled in the town square (if we had a town square), and I were brought before them, and the men were asked to stand on one side of the square if they found me attractive or on the other if they found me repugnant, the vast majority of normal guys would go to the repugnant side and the men left over would be the ones with criminal records (we're talking felonies here), those on watch lists, the psychopaths, and the crazies. Sure, there would be some normal guys on that side, too, but when they noticed that the other men around them were foaming at the mouth and sharpening switchblades, they would scuttle over to the other side of the square, leaving me with prospective boyfriends that were destined to grace the most-wanted list.

At first, I ignored Staring Guy. He was pale, in his late teens with dark hair and an earring. The earring alone was a warning, because it was a big faux-diamond, which made me think that Staring Guy, while off duty, liked to wear huge, over-sized pants belted just above the knee and some kind of cap tilted to the back or side. He was a gangsta-wannabe.

But Staring Guy kept darting back out, staring, and giving me this weird look.

Finally, Becky and Jen noticed my expression, and they asked me what was going on. When I explained, Jen (who was next to me in the booth) started watching where Staring Guy had first appeared. When he looked around the pillar again, she stared back at him with her angry teacher-stare*.

"I cannot tell if he is watching our water glasses to see when he should refill them, or if he finds us attractive," I said.

"I bet it's the water," Jen replied.

"Maybe we shouldn't stare back," I continued. "You never know. This could be my future husband."

And he just kept staring. He began an elaborate technique of circling the dining area, watching us--or was it me?--as he walked around the room, ducking for cover behind walls and booths when he felt his staring was becoming obvious to us.

He had even put the water down. There was no water pitcher anymore. Only staring.

Eventually, when another guy came over to refill Jen's tea, she told him, "You know the guy with the earring? He is being creepy. He keeps staring. It's freaking us out. You need to tell him to stop."

This was not effective.

Staring Guy kept it up through our whole meal, and when we'd finished eating, he returned to our table three separate times to get plates. He would take a plate, leave watch us for a while, come back, take a salad plate, go away, watch, then return for another. He was taking, like, one plate at a time. You know how people busing tables can carry every plate from a table on one arm? Or at least most of them? This guy did not even attempt it. He was a one-plate-at-a-time kind of person. Because it gave him a better opportunity to BE CREEPY.

I watched on the way out to the car. He didn't write down Jen's license plate number. So she is safe.

But seriously. This is why people carry mace. So psychotic busboys do not slash your tires, throw you in the back of their van, drive you out into the woods, and bolt your ankle to a chain hooked to the floor so they can watch you through a tiny window built into the wall until you eventually starve and die. This is why the mace.

Source: mycakespot.blogspot.ca via Shannon on Pinterest

Maybe this would be a good idea for my birthday? Or a taser, like Darcy has in Thor. Nothing says "Happy 28th" like self-defense-related presents**.

* You do not mess with the teacher-stare.

** Or stuff with The Avengers on it. Like my new folder. And my new markers. And my new pencils. And my shirt. I love The Avengers.

Becky Gets Some Credit, But Not Much.

Becky actually spent some time with us today. But first, you must all understand what happened before this.

We ran into Becky the other day, the day when Jen and I went to Biaggi's for tasty food and also went shopping but were disappointed to find that we had nothing to buy or even look at when at the mall.

Becky was buying a nice new shiny sweeper. It had a thing for pet hair, and a thing that came out and dusted while sucking up all the little cobweb thingies that were around. She was with Joe, her husband, the man who stole her from us, her friends, who love her and want her time and attention. Becky. Come on.

We stopped and talked with her. It was nice. We told her that we missed her and that it wasn't fair that we couldn't spend time with her. Joe actually came out and said he didn't have a problem with it. He didn't have a problem with it. Becky, come ON.

Two years has passed since we have had Becky. Two years.

So we tried to get Joe to go home and Becky to come with us, just for a bit. But Becky wanted to go home and play with her new sweeper, which she did. Becky, COME ON.

We did manage to get her to agree to an evening with us, today, March 21. We would get dinner, we said. She agreed. She wrote it down in her little book. I saw her.

So March 20 rolled around and Jennifer called me. She said that she had gotten a message from Becky that she could not come on March 21 because she had to work. Meanwhile, Jennifer had to work through the evening on Friday night, and all day on Saturday. She also had to work on her Master's degree on Sunday, writing a paper. Not to mention all the other things that she has to do, like buying food or dusting or even sleeping.

Becky said she had to work during the day, and could not come. She was bailing on us, and when Jen called her and tried to ask, she couldn't reach Becky. And she called me and was upset, and she talked about how hard it was to thing that we are losing Becky, which we do not want. Friends are forever. We are not petty high school kids. We are forever, like a family you can choose.

Jen and I chatted for a few minutes. We both agreed that we would still hang out together Saturday, but we were disappointed to think we would be one short.

So today, Jen called me again and said that Becky really was coming. So I rushed out and came over to her apartment (where I am now) and we went over to get Becky from her house, and we ate at the Market Street Grill, and laughed. Then we went to Walmart for almost no reason.

Then we went back to Jen's where we are now. And Becky announced at eight o'clock that she had to go home. So that she could sleep.
Becky, COME ON!

We have managed to convince her to spend time with us in the future, but this is not necessarily certain. It is just sad to think that we have to fight so hard about this. So I am writing this entry right after I made certain to e-mail her my blog from the other day. I think this might mean that Becky's public humiliation may lead to her e-mailing me or calling me or even spending time with me and Jen at some time in the future.

If we are successful, I will let you know.

And, P.S. Hi to my New York reader and all you folks from Ravelry! Thanks for coming!