Territorial Women

I've been observing an interesting phenomenon lately.  It seems that when any girl between the ages of 13-30 comes into the restaurant where I work and gets in any way flirty with me or one of the other guys, the girls at work become rather touchy.

About a year and a half ago, in the late afternoon, this woman pulled up in a sports car.  When she got out, I saw that she was about as tall as me, and very pretty.  But what I remember her for was the fact that she was just closing the door when the wind gusted, blowing her hair into her face, and she gave it a quick toss, catching it in the wind.  The gorgeous red colour shone brightly in the light of the lowering sun.  The strangest part was that the song "Pretty Woman" was playing on the radio at that moment.  No, really; I'm not making this up.

Anyway, she came in again in mid September, 2011 when I was feeling crazy-courageous from a lack of sleep.  When she told me what kind of sandwich she wanted, I immediately forgot.  I strained for a moment to remember, but to no avail, and had to ask again.  She repeated it with a slight giggle and a hand flick at her hair.  I began making the sandwich, and sensing that I could have a little fun here, changed my tone and put on a more interesting expression, saying, "You know, I could be really cheesy right now and say, 'Oh, sorry, I looked into your eyes and forgot what I was doing.'"  I pretended to shake off the bad joke, but she responded with a shoulder shrug, a toss of her hair, and another giggle.

But at that moment, I felt my manager glaring hotly at the side of my head from down the line.  I decided in my mad state that I was already in it, and said to the pretty woman, "That's right down there with, 'You, know, I was gonna come over here and say something clever to try to make you laugh, but girl, you're so cute I forgot what I was gonna say.'"  She gave a somewhat intensified version of her previous response, and the side of my head started to smoke from the heat of my boss's glare, which I ignored.

I completed the pretty girl's sandwich while making a few more stupid jokes (all of which got responses of giggling and playing with gorgeous hair), and then I finished her order and sent her on her way.  By that time, my boss had moved to the back area, and when I got back there, she shot me a brief, sharp, sidelong look that only women can give.  The kind that mellows a man's mood and stabs at his brain.

I squared my shoulders and said firmly to her, "What.  Am I not allowed to flirt with cute girls any more?"

She replied coldly, "You weren't the only one being flirty."  She then continued with what she was doing muttering to herself words like "skank", "stupid", and "hair".

This is simply the best example I have of this phenomenon.  My conclusion is that, by and large, when women are in a workplace or a home situation, they don't like it when girls they don't know enter that zone and flirt with any males in the vicinity, whether or not they have any kind of committed relationship with said males.

I have asked a friend of mine about this, and she said, "Well, of course they don't like those other girls hitting on you.  You're their boys, and those other girls are on their turf.  Just like when I’m around, you guys are with me and shouldn’t be looking at slutty Renaissance Faire chicks."  I tried to argue that we had to look at them to appreciate how pretty she was, but stopped short when her glare stabbed my brain.  She’ll never let that bellydancer thing go…

 Back off, witch!  These're my boys!!!

The Ides of February

Beware the ides of March?  Nay, for ‘tis February, but in the ides of this month do men's hearts break asunder.  And merrily, women jest that their affections can be won for a mere rock mounted in glorious fashion upon a bit of metal, or strung up on the ear.

While one may not be brutalised by one’s brother and associates, yet may one instead find oneself caught up in fetid expectations of giving for one’s own anticipated reception.  The truth sets upon you like a roaring tide on the billowing sea that the "traditional" view of the fourteenth is but a child’s game.

What one may give under the effects of Cupid’s arrow shall in theory be returned again by one’s other.  How is it, then, that so many find this time insipid, and do therefore lament with much bitterness that which they shall not receive by any means until that faerie shall favour them in earnest?

A day of love?  Alas, alas, I see it not so.  For men must become chimerical pretenders in order that they may find the affections of their other.  In this so many lose themselves, caught as it were in a race with no end, never again showing their true selves for fear of losing what ovation is granted their performance, and wishing that they may.

Behold I say that this day is given for those who have, and too often have it counted less for them.  How many have one for whom they think their heart yearns and yet find this time an agony; while by that same token, how many have not and wish that they should have?

By true logic should all men find who indeed seek.  But alack the day, ‘tis not the way.  For that divinity of affection does have a cruel heart, and seeks that men shall have misery at this time.

If indeed to find love am I, it shall not be from behind an actor’s mask, but rather, from my own face.  For a woman I would adore would not be fooled by the pretense of a coxcomb.  Instead, she would see me for who I am, and for whatever reason enjoy it, as I know not the mind of Woman.

In short, what I do feel is that puerile pettiness can be tossed aside in favour of what is real.  I only wish that Venus would instead smile upon me through one who I would esteem, and take with her the seiren’s songs that try to lure me.  Beware the ides of February, for its venom can vex your very soul.

The Bullet to Dodge

We all know where the police usually like to set their traps, but have you ever been able to dodge it once they tagged you?

A few years ago, I was driving from LaCrosse to where I lived outside of Holmen, when I hit the usual police trap.  It's a place where there's a stop light just before the the speed limit drops from 45 to 25 just as you get into town.  Anyway, the police normally sit and wait off to the right side of this intersection (going north).  So I went through around 8:45 pm at 48 mph, only remembering the speed drop after passing the light.  I immediately hit the brakes and brought my speed down to an appropriate level.  I even recall thinking, "I hope a cop didn't just see that."

I had driven maybe another half a mile, and then I saw the tell-tale red and blue flashing lights in my rear-view mirror.  He was still a ways off, so I kept going until the car was within a tenth of a mile, and then signaled and carefully pulled off to the side.  There I waited for the patrol car to slow and pull in... except it went right past me.  I waited until it was about half a block ahead before pulling out again, and watched the progress of the lights.  They continued for over a mile, where there's an intersection marked jct OT, at which point the lights turned off, and the officer turned around to return to his position.  It occurred to me that the officer was looking for someone exceeding the speed limit, and most likely drunk.  But I had realized and rectified my mistake before he could truly begin pursuit.

This is not quite as awesome as what happened last week, when my brother and I were going back to our place from grocery shopping around 10:30 pm.  We were going 29 in a 25 zone, when we noticed someone coming up behind us, and closing the distance fast.  There was another vehicle visible behind them that seemed to be keeping pace.  We were just about to turn to go down the street where we live, and the front end of the car behind us had almost disappeared behind the tailgate of  the truck.  I mentioned his approach, and my brother came to a full and complete stop in the intersection, whereupon we both turned around and stared into the car tailing us.  After a few moments of that, we pulled onto our street, but I kept watching the guy.  Just then, the police lights on the car behind the one tailgating us turned on, and the siren sounded.  They both were lurching to a halt as I lost sight of them.  I exclaimed, "Dude!  That was a cop behind him!"  My brother said, "What?  That's awesome!  There is some justice in this world!"