Am I offending you?

*Warning. This blog post contains some mild vulgarity and the use of alcohol and tobacco.

As a poor, car-less college student, sometimes public transportation becomes a necessity. On this particular afternoon, I was standing at a bus stop, waiting for the already late bus to arrive so I could go to the mall. It was snowing and cold. Next to me was a young man and a young woman, both in their early twenties. They were clearly Asian and were speaking to each other in what could have been Chinese, Japaneses... something like that. An oriental language that I didn't know. After several minutes of waiting, the guy asked me if I was taking their same bus, which I was, and he told me they had been waiting for over an hour. Weird... but the public transit system was nothing if unreliable.

After a few minutes had passed, another guy in his early twenties showed up. I didn't watch him ride up on his bike, but I did watch him lower the bike to the ground, lurch off it and put his brown paper grocery bag on the ground. As he did so, the sound of glass clanked together. Next, he staggered over to the signpost which has the bus times posted. He then kind of straightened up and lurched over to us, asking us if we were going on the bus he was taking in a very slurred voice. We nodded in affirmative. The other guy, who I later learned was Freddy, and I exchanged looks of, "Wow... could he be more wasted?"

A few minutes passed, during which this drunk fellow proceeded to struggled with lighting his cigarette. A few moments later, he stumbled back over to us.

"What does BYU stand for?" he asked. Due to the ruckus of traffic behind him and the slurred nature of his speach, I just stared at him blankly. "Does it stand for B****** You Ugly."

I am not responding to that.

"You don't go there, do you?" he asked, stepping closer.

I glared at him and responded that, yes, in fact, I did.

He smiled. "Oh, that's cool." He started to leave, but then changed his mind, "So, you don't believe in alcohol or drugs or smoking or penetration or any of that stuff, do you?"

I responded, "Uh, no, we don't."

"And you have all that approved housing and stuff, don't you? Men's housing and women's housing, but no co-ed housing."

I nodded.

"So, where do you live, men or women?"

Seriously, buddy? "Women."

"And you can't have overnight guests can you?"

"Well, if they're women."

"Oh." He looks at me, "That's probably good enough for you."

Perv.

He wanders away.

He came back, multiple times with varying comments about BYU. Then, the subject changed.

"So, what's your name?"

I am NOT giving you my real name. "Jane," I responded.

"Oh..." He looked kind of disappointed, "That's my mom's name. That's kind of a turn off."

He wanders away, but of course he comes back.

"You know, I like your style. You just sit here and listen to me. Am I offending you?"

I stare at him.

"I had a little bit of malt whiskey, so I might be offending you."

A little bit?

He turned his back and wandered away. His t-shirt was sporting the image of a pot leaf.

He came back.

"Does the fact that I have a pot leaf on my back offend you?"

"I don't care what you have on your back."

"Pot grows from the ground. Like grass. If grass was illegal, this whole city would be in prison."

Wanders away. Comes back.

"I like your braces. They're a nice color. Are you going to Salt Lake? Sandy?"

I hesitated. Where would make a good story? Also, how was I to know he wouldn't follow me off the bus no matter where I got off?

He looked at me and his face turned kind of sour, "You seem indecisive. I don't like that. It seems like you don't want to tell me where you're going."

Now, what could ever give you an idea like that?

"Are you married?"

Over his shoulder, a cop car pulled up to the curb. Out stepped an officer.

He started babbling some question about who would I rather marry when the police officer tapped the man and pulled him aside. Whilst the officer was questioning our dear drunk friend, the bus pulled up, I boarded, and the bus pulled away.

Rachel's tip... for life:

Getting drunk isn't going to help you pick up chicks at the bus stop. Just sayin'.

Best wishes,

Rachel

That's a nice lost and found shelf....

So, I work at a campus library. During the summer, there aren't many students around and the library is pretty empty. One afternoon, I was working at the sorting shelves, putting books on them that had come up from the circulation area. My friend, Joanne, paused to talk to me as she went past. As we were chatting, I noticed a man attempting to approach us. By this I mean, he'd look at me and come closer, look at her and back away. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Much to my dismay, Joanne left me to my books and the man. This man was in his mid-thirties, I estimated. He was of Asian descent and wore round glasses. He had a saddlebag hanging on his side and a full-sized teal bath towel in his hand. As Joanne left, he approached.

"Hi, do you work here?" he asked, somewhat hopefully while sticking his head between the shelves to get closer.

"Yes, I do," I replied, trying to pay more attention to the books in my arm than the man with his head in the shelves.

"You do?!" He was thrilled. Yes, thrilled, "This is such a nice library you have here!"

Um.... yes. Because it belongs to me and everything. "Thanks? I like it."

He looked up at me, rather shocked, "You agree with me? You really agree with me?"

I was not sure how to respond. At all. So, I did what I could and smiled and nodded. Book on shelf. Next book on shelf.

"So, I have this bath towel," he holds it up. On closer inspection, it was damp. Odd.

He continues, "I was wondering if I could leave it here. While I study. Since I think I look a little odd carrying it around. But I don't think anyone would steal it, do you? I mean, it's just a towel. But it would be okay if someone stole it... I mean, it's just a towel..."

Whoa, Bessie. Chill out. But... why would you ever leave it on a desk in the library?

"You could leave it on the lost and found shelf?" I suggested. I was grasping for something, anything.... just leaving it on the table seemed awkward. And wrong.

His eyes lit up. "You have a lost and found shelf?!"

Why was he so excited about everything? I nodded.

"Can I see it?"

This was a moment when I was really grateful the lost and found shelf was just at the end of the range of shelves. And that I had a radio. I took him down to the lost and found shelf.

"Wow! This is a nice lost and found shelf."

Um... yes? I suppose it is?

So he put the towel on the shelf and turned to me. "I'm just going to leave it here. I don't think anyone will steal it, do you? I mean, it's just a towel... but it's not worth much so it's okay if they do."

Why was he so hung up on that?

"I'm going to be just studying right over there if you need me. I'll just be over there for the next thirty minutes."

Uh... noted.

"If your supervisor, the supervisor on this floor asks you what's going on, you can just tell them what's happening. I don't want to get you in trouble."

For having a towel on the lost and found shelf?

"Well, I am the supervisor on this floor..."

He paused, turned back to me and looked me up and down. His tone of voice changed from excited and innocent to suggestive, "Well, I've underestimated you."

He left. Then the oddity of the situation hit me. I hurriedly put the last of the books away then took the back way down to the main floor so I didn't have to pass the towel man on the way down.

After some conversations with my fellow library workers, I learned that others had had similar encounters. There was one girl who had been pestered for a ride to a used book store and a guy who had been bothered about the towel, also. We banded together and talked to our boss. Being the protective man that he was, he immediately talked to security with our complaints in hand. We learned that this man had a record and had spent time in prison. Oh good.

Cheers!

Rachel

Strawberry Fields Forever

So, this story has nothing to do with the Beatles, but as I sit here eating some strawberries I am reminded of an awkward guy story from my past -- And you'll see the connection in a minute. 


February 14, 2010 -- That morning I drove up to spend the morning with my family, and get to see my new baby cousin. That afternoon I got back to my apartment, and closed the door behind me. I walked into the kitchen to put a few things away, and saw a figure walk by the window, but I didn't pay much attention because there were usually people walking by during that time of the day.


Then there was a quick knock at the front door and I saw a figure RUN past the window. I walked over to the front door and found a huge plate of chocolate covered strawberries on the doorstep. There was a card on top, addressed to me. I looked down the hallway, but couldn't see anyone there, so I quickly moved the plate of goodies inside.


I called my roommates into the kitchen to see what I had just gotten. I opened the card and began reading the poem inside --- not just a printed poem, but a personal note from a guy that lived down the street [So much for ding-dong ditching if the card has a name anyway... ??]. The card was so sweet, and definitely made my Valentine's Day... but I maybe had said 10 words to this guy the whole time I've known him. 


When I saw him later that night, I really didn't know how to react or how to say thank you. As much as I felt awkward for being given chocolate covered strawberries, from a guy I barely knew, my roommates and friends sure appreciated the sugary goodness they provided. And thinking back on it now --- maybe I'm the awkward one.


Until next time, Robin

Words of Encouragement

I just realized that we missed out on a big opportunity - APRIL FOOLS' DAY! Who knows what outlandish date story we could have come up with... especially because all these other creepy stories we share actually happen. I'll have to start thinking about one and then there will be a GREAT one for next year.

---

Over the last few months, every time one of my a guy-friends posts an update on his life, it is all about how girls are ridiculous. Or how upset he is that he is not married. Or how he was engaged last year and now he still isn't married. Or how depressed he is about not being married. Or how sad he is that a girl turned him down for a second date... And on. And on. And on.

As you can see, not a big optimistic person. Well, this weekend was the last straw, and I finally sent him a message to get him to stop having a constant pity-party for the world to see. I really wanted to tell him to just shut-up and get over himself, but I restrained my fingers from typing those words. In the end, my message told him to stop worrying about it, that he is trying and dating people, and that marriage will come eventually -- Something to that effect.

The next day I got a message from him, thanking me for the message of encouragement... And then he asked if my Friday was free. Hmm... Not exactly what I was going for with that message.


Until next time, Robin