I hesitate to even tell this story. I can’t make up my mind if it’s funny, disgusting, or sad. Ultimately, it’s a combination of all of it I suppose. Yesterday afternoon, I stepped outside of my office to take a phone call. (For some reason, my old cell phone sounded like a bowl of Rice Krispies inside my office.) Now, let me set the scene a little. My office is in a semi-circle of five or six buildings, who all share a large but wooded parking lot that faces one of the busiest streets in town.
So as I’m chatting on the phone, I walk to my car–which is parked right against the main street. I grabbed something from the car and stood there for a moment while I wrapped the call up. When I turned to walk back to the office, there is a car stopped behind me. There’s a young guy behind the wheel of the filthy, rundown looking car, with his arm resting on the window. He mutters something, but I can’t hear him over the roar of the cars that are speeding by a mere ten feet away. I stepped closer to the car and said “Excuse me?” I assumed he was asking for directions. (There are a number of somewhat poorly marked businesses in the immediate area, so two or three times a month I find myself helping confused motorists as I come in from the parking lot.)
At this point, I’m only a foot or two from his window, and he says, “Are you Patrick?” At least that’s what I thought he said. “Patrick?” I repeated, “No, I’m sorry.”
“No, are you packin’?” he repeated. I leaned in closer, sure I still wasn’t hearing him correctly.
“Packing?” I said.
“Packing what?” I was wondering where the hell he was going with this, but got the feeling that maybe he was mistaking me for his drug dealer or something. But this is where it really gets weird. Kids stop reading now.
“Packing a big dick.” I’m pretty sure my jaw hit the pavement at this point.
“You’re real damn cute.”
And then he grabbed me. Keep in mind, I’m still standing pretty close to his car, his arm is resting on the door, and it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out where exactly he grabbed me. I jumped back.
“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Can I suck it?”
“Hellllll no.” and I took a few steps away. My mind was racing, I didn’t want this freak show to see which office I went into. My car was right there, but I didn’t want him to know which one was mine either.
“Wait, wait! I’m sorry.”
I turned my head over my shoulder, “You need to get out of here.”
“Can’t you just stand there and talk dirty to me?” My first reaction was to punch this kid in the face, but I quickly reasoned that the sort of person who would make such a parking lot overture was likely crawling with all manner of blood-born cooties. So I just started laughing and walking.
“No, I couldn’t. Now get out of here.” I waved him off.
“Nope…” I kept walking.
“Just…one…second.” His breathing was labored. Was he doing what the hell I think he was doing? I heard a grunty-gaspy noise. By this point I was on the other side of his car, several feet away. I just kept walking til I was about halfway back to the office. I looked over my shoulder, and see his hand moving feverishly–yep, he was doing exactly what I thought he was doing. I picked up the pace. I made one last glance over my shoulder when I got to the door, and the parking lot wanker was gone. I wasn’t sure if I should die laughing or call the police. I decided on the latter, but realized I couldn’t tell them what kind of car it was, only that it was filthy, or what he looked like other than he was white and probably in his 20’s.
“Um, police department? I’d like to report a white guy driving around with a sticky steering wheel.” I figured I’d be making a fool of myself calling that in–but it was basically all I could have given them.
I spent the next hour in shock–what the hell kind of person approaches a complete stranger like that? What kind of sicko does THAT in broad daylight in a parking lot on the busiest road in town?? But what freaked me out the most was that he (at least at first) seemed like a perfectly normal person–he didn’t LOOK like a freaky pervert. I had no reservations about walking straight up to his car when I thought all he needed was directions. I felt like a naive fool…he could have just as easily stabbed me as groped me. By the time I left the office an hour or so later, I was freaked out…looking out the window before I went to the parking lot, and carrying the only weapon I could find on the way out–a pair of scissors.