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~My magnetic personality~

[Caution: this post might not be hazardous to your health but it might ruin appetite, please be advised.]

I don’t know why this is, but without fail, I ALWAYS attract the weirdest people EVER.

Like right now.

My kids are on Christmas vacation and I needed a little peace from the, “Mom, he’s touching me.” “Mom, he’s looking at me.” “Mom, he picked his nose.” “Mom—” “Mom—” Mom—”

Don’t get me wrong, I love my children and I spend a lot of time with my kids. But sometimes, like today, I needed a bit of a break. So I drove into the city, and went to the mall to go write in the food court.

Then the crazy man came.

So here I am, typing away, trying to give Sir Wallace and Edwina Banks a happily-ever-after when this sloppily dressed, scruffy-lookin’ guy I can smell coming fifteen feet away comes and sits down at the table beside me. My first thought: WHY ME???

There are literally hundreds of empty tables, and a good fifteen or so by outlets. So why did he have to pick the table next to mine?

I scoot my chair over a bit and move my purse and coat so he can “plug in”. Then it begins. He wants to talk.

Waving his stickered-up cellphone in my face, he proceeds to tell me that he can’t go anywhere with it, even to attend personal business, because he might get a call about doing something for the weekend and he’d hate to be left out.

All right then. This isn’t anything I really need to know. I just nod.

Then he starts setting up his laptop with a corded mouse and an external CD drive. I am dead serious.

As he’s getting his cords untangled, he tells me that he learned the hard way yesterday there is a six-hour time limit to use the Internet. I’m not sure why this is a shock since it’s written on the information card on the tables and on the sign-in screen it’s written in big, bold letters. (Not to mention, once you sign on, there is a little clock that pops up on the screen and counts your time down.) But nonetheless he was quite shocked when he got booted.

Furthermore, much to his dismay, during those six hours, he was unable to download pirated music, TV shows and movies as fast as he could at the library. I was flabbergasted. Some of you may not know this about me, but I am very vocal when it comes to pirating. It’s stealing and it’s wrong.

Then, with the next breath, he shakes his head and goes, “I don’t know about that guy.”

Reluctantly, I look in the direction he’s pointing to this old man who can’t be a day under seventy.

“Yesterday, he was here, dressed in a suit and I saw him stealing a bulb off the Christmas tree.”

“Stealing it?”

He nods. “Yes. He pulled it off the tree, then took it to his table and inspected the design on it for an hour or so. I don’t know what he did with it after that, though.”

Seriously? He’s going to condemn a senile old man for plucking a 50-cent bulb from the Christmas tree and inspecting it, yet he illegally downloads media? Only once in my life have I ever been so stunned: when someone wrote me an e-mail wanting to discuss at length my 1-star reviews.

At this point, I consider moving. But wouldn’t that look too obvious? If I get up and just move across the room, he’ll know I’m just trying to avoid him. I better stay put.

So with a whispered prayer that he’ll leave me alone, I turn my attention to my work:

Edwina released the counterpane—

“Wow, you sure are a fast typer.”

“Mmmhmmm.” Click, click, click.

—”Go ahead,” Wallace said softly. His face was pale and his eyes looked distant—cold even. He lowered the counterpane and brought it to rest about his waist, exposing his broad, hair-coverd chest—

“I learned to type when I was a kid. But I’m not quite as fast as you are. They say it’s impossible for men’s fingers to move as fast as women’s.”

My fingers stop moving. If he says one more thing, I will not be responsible for what I do, even if that means I move my flying fingers to wrap around his throat.

“Oh, looks like we shouldn’t eat at Chick-Fil-A. Those kids are touching the counter.”

I don’t even turn to look. That might encourage him.

But it didn’t matter. He just had to tell me the story.

“All four of those boys were in the bathroom a few minutes ago while I was in there, and I didn’t hear the water at the sink turn on one time while I was using the toilet.”

I think I just lost my appetite and it has nothing to do with those kids not washing their hands. I do not care who you are, but discussing your bathroom  habits with a stranger in the food court at the mall is too much.

Focus, Rose. Just ignore this man and get some words on the page. Maybe if he sees you’re busy, he’ll just go about playing War Craft or whatever it is he brought to play.

Good plan. Except one thing. After hearing about this man’s…er…answering the call of nature, there is no way I can continue with such a scene. Good thing I have an unfinished drawing room scene at the beginning of the book. Now is the perfect time to work on that.

I scroll through the document and find the spot I’m looking for. Perfect.

Hmmm, what more could they say to each other? Maybe—

“I’ll be right back. Can you make sure nobody steals my computer?”

“Sure.” If it means a break from you, I’ll babysit it all day long. “Take your time.”

Five minutes and about 200 words later, the man hobbles back over from the direction of the bathroom and announces, “Whew, I feel so much better now.”

Needless to say, I moved.

I once had a friend tell me I am like a magnet–the positive end, because I seem to have a knack for attracting some of the most bizarre individuals by doing nothing other than just “being”.

Anyone else have this sort of a personality trait or attract a certain type of person, animal, or situation and wish to share, please do.

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16 thoughts on “~My magnetic personality~”

  1. Happens to me and my friends all the time when we walk down the street. One time this random drunk guy saw my friend and called her Roshell while asking where’d she been all his life needless to say it was a very awkward moment.

  2. That is how I feel in the mall when you walk by the kiosks where people are selling flat irons, hair extensions and lotion and they more or less accost you to sample their stuff–I am always a target…lol.

    1. I know I shouldn’t laugh at your misfortune, but I did. That same thing happens to me, too. I have no idea why, but those guys are always yelling at me to come let them do my hair. Saying, “Lady, your hair is out of control, let me tame it for you.” Is NOT the way to get business, I’m sorry.

      1. Same thing today…went to mall to pick up something really quick but still managed to attract the attention of the sunglasses kiosk dude. I said “no thanks” and kept walking when in reality I wanted to say “have you LOOKED outside today? It is POURING down rain…don’t think you’re going to be selling a ton of sunglasses today.” LOL….

  3. Well, years ago I was reading a book on the Greyhound bus when this guy (at least he was in my age group) sat down and talked to me for three hours. It happened again with a woman on another Greyhound trip. Needless to say, I stopped taking the Greyhound.

    Now it’s the park. Whenever or wherever I take my kids to play, another kid will come up to me and start talking to me. Then, and this is the part that sucks, they want to know if they can play with my grandkids. And they aren’t the only ones. I’ve had adults refer to my kids as my grandkids and one of my husband’s co-workers told my husband it was nice his mother came to visit. I was that mother. I thought about freaking the guy out by giving my husband a long kiss but refrained.

    I’ve learned to play along and try to get sympathy for a little old lady when her “grandkids” aren’t perfect in public. Hey, give a senior citizen a break! People tend to be nicer if they think you’re old.

    BTW, getting my hair colored at the salon hasn’t helped and I’m 37. :-/

  4. Oh goodness… I so feel your pain…all the way around. And I’m glad I’m not the only mother who needs a break from the incessant MOM, MOM, MOM. Today is my last day at work until next year (hee-hee 1.3.12), so my husband suggested I get a hotel room for a couple nights. I really like to stay home (in order to avoid crazies), so suggeted he and the girls get a room. We’ll see what happens.

  5. I want to hear more about Sir Wallace, the counterpane and naked chest…..

    I have always drawn the people like that, mostly from church. The ones who want to tell you how bad their life is or the users (and I don’t mean drugs).

    Ruth- I have been called my son’s grandmother a few times as well when he was younger 😦

    Moms hair turned white early in life and mine hit the grey streaks early as well. Although I have been hit on twice when I go to Basha’s in the Sun City West (retirement community next to ours). Although some old guy trying to pick you up in the dairy aisle because you don’t have a cane or walker isn’t that impressive!

    1. Sorry Judy, but at that time I was just NOT feeling it. Yuck.

      I had a *friend* once who used to tell me all of her woes constantly. And with each re-telling they grew more and more extreme. Anyway, she did this so much, when I got home and my family would ask how my day was, I’d say, “It was fine, except Susie vomited all her problems all over me again.” (Sorry for the mental image that comes along with those words. I’m in a weird mood.)

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