Eleven A.M. Lechery

It seems appropriate that my last post was about drinking since this morning I had my very own drunken encounter.

In the morning, KB and I usually walk across the street to grab a cup of coffee to facilitate the ol' memo writing at work. As we were standing in line this saucy gent who looks to be in his 40's with reddish blonde hair sees KB and slurs to her "Ahhh, your hair looks lovely. I love it. Don't change a thing." We both just kind of stare at him and he dodders off. He is in the company of a woman with a baby and I feel bad for her because it is clear that she has to take care of two children.

KB and I switch places in line because I know what I'm going to order, and I'm thinking he's fixated on her so maybe I'll just run interference. It looks like crazy and co. are finishing up when crazy man turns to me. He sees my accursed ID clipped to my skirt and says "Laaw-yuhr, now that's a lovely name. Really. You're beautiful. I'm here on vacation, otherwise I'd love stay here and flirt, but I have to go."

For the love of god, I haven't even had coffee yet.

Crazy turns back to me "Man, Laaw-yuhr, you are a knockout...mumble mumble...your boyfriend?"

I'm not sure what Crazy man asks, something about having a boyfriend or a boyfriend kicking his ass, the appropriate answer to both questions being "Yes" despite not having a boyfriend, much less an ass-kicking one.

At this point I'm desperately wishing Aquaman had come with us for coffee because he could serve as a buffer. Or at least it would be funny to watch the crazy man hit on him.

At long last crazy man and his wife/sister/friend and baby head outside. I get my coffee and proceed to the condiment bar for a lid. The next thing I know, Crazy is right beside me, chattering away. He says "I forgot the napkins. Really, Laaw-yuhr. Stay beautiful. I'd love to stay and flirt, but I guess your boyfriend wouldn't like that would he? You're probably too young for me. I'm 35, are you 32?

I reply that I am under 30, and definitely too young for him.

"OK, well, you're knockout. Really, a knockout." And then he sort of staggers off.

While it's great to hear the phrase "You're a knockout," one has to consider the source. Like tickets from the skeeball machine, I would like to trade in all my past hollas (qualify + lawyers are evil + knockout) for one decent prize.

I peer out the glass doors to see where crazy man is sitting. Sadly the only way out is past him, and he's sitting a table near the stairs. KB offers to walk on that side, and we sprint past him. I do not make eye contact, but KB says he gives us a thumbs up. She just glared at him.

KB said as we were walking back "God, get a job. That's what's wrong with this city -- nobody ever works."