I never get hit on. Like, ever. I’m serious when I say this, because I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been hit on and I can count on no hands the numbers of times I’ve been hit on and it hasn’t been by a really strange person.
After the Healthy Kidney 10k this past weekend, I headed to Bagel Bob’s on University and 10th on my way out of Manhattan. My dad kindly drove me in and insisted that he needed a bagel before he could leave the City because he had a headache forming or something. I don’t know, I think it was bullshit but I wanted a bagel so whatever. The line was long, but the line’s always long so whatever. After running in that weather, I was starting to smell myself and let me assure you, the smell was not at all pleasant and I looked like what most people looking like after they’ve run in terrible weather and kind of like crap.
You know, I looked crappy.
So imagine my surprise when the guy behind the bagel counter was a) speaking to me in Spanish and b) sounded like he was hitting on me. I don’t know if it was a test to see if I really understood him when he switched from English to Spanish, but my high school Spanish wasn’t that rusty. I know what bonita means and let me assure you there was nothing bonita about the state I was in at that point. Plus, I mean, I was there for a bagel so shut the fuck up and get me my everything toasted with cream cheese, please. This would fall under the category of creepy weirdos who hit on me based solely off the age difference.
It’s a situation I’ve so rarely been in I wasn’t really sure what to do with myself other than smile awkwardly and leave with a newly found appreciation for the stand offish ladies of Bagels 4 U in Hillsborough, NJ.
Survey: Has anyone ever made advances when you’ve just finished a run? Is this a new fetish?