Close Encounters With The Third Kind

Also known as "You get what's coming to you." Never have words rung so true. You complain about the heat, you get snow, you ask for just a little more dressing on your salad, you get a little bit of lettuce to go with your dressing. You complain about not having anything to blog about, and you get something to blog about. Today found Lara being asked to make a salad for dinner with the home teachers tomorrow! I accepted, sounded fun, but this did mean I had to go to Smiths again. No big deal. On my way down to the grocery store, I contemplated this blog, and how it was sort of boring. What do people blog about? You can't live off of my random lists forever! I needed some sort of story to tell. Now, I warn you. This is not a story. This is all real. By real I mean really freaky. I'm in the express lane, right? That should mean no more than 5 minutes per customer or something! That was not the deal tonight at Smiths. The lady in front of me was paying in some weird method so it took forever. Ok. Twenty minutes. But twenty minutes spent the way I spent them is like unto forever. This guy comes up behind me. Yeah. He's checking out behind me. Let me paint the scene. Crazy blood shot eyes, yellow teeth with several missing, scraggly beard and hair. And he says "You look like you could be a teenager!" Um thanks. I smile and nod (I'm bad at saying "BACK OF SIR!") and he continues to say "You know how old I am? I just turned 43." He's speaking really slow and crazy like. Makes sense, crazy eyes, crazy like. "You know where I'm headed? Washington! There are lots of black people in Washington. Not many Mexicans, but there are lots of black people. But you know what there are lots of? It's a word that I'm not going to say but... There are lots of homosexuals there. My best friend's dad was homosexual. My best friend was too, but his dad was more homosexual than he was. And his dad was married to a beast. Neah neah neah (mimicking the voice she made apparently...)" During this I'm just bobbing around wondering why the lady in front of me is taking forever and why anyone would need so many boxes of multi-grain Cheerios. "What's your last name?" I figured you can't get any more generic than Smith so I just told him Smith. And his jaw drops and he says "Your... your grandmother worked at the warehouse! (What?!) That's why I can't stop starring at you, you look so much like her! Her hair is graying though." "My last name is Clark. My Grandmother's last name is Horax. I'd rather be Horax than Clark. You know what? The Horax family and the Smith family and the Evans family all worked for the same man, Joseph Smith." (Hmm... I'm related to him... I didn't know my Grandma worked for him.) He mumbles something about his Uncle while I look over into the other check out line and this man is starring at me horrified, clearly feeling the same awkward vibe I was feeling. "You know, my cousin, genealogy, he, you could be an aunt, if your cousin has kids, that makes you an aunt, and your brother an uncle." (Woah! I didn't know that one actually.) "You have CUTE shoes. Where did you get them? The DI?" "American Eagle" I replied. His eyes go crazy and he says "The... The Indian store?" BAHAHAHAH! This is when I realized it had to be a blog post. Some lady walks up behind him and he turns around and stares at her for a while, then at a dog in the store. Wait... a dog in the store? I don't know. It was weird. And he mumbles to himself "Hey you want to make some money? You can keep 60%, I'll take 50% (Where'd that extra 10 come from?) No. I don't like that. I'll take 40%, you take 10%." He turns around and says "Well Lisa, you are a very beautiful 23 year old." What the heck. By now I had checked out, I smiled, waved, and ran. And he shouted out after me "I LOVE YOU!" This whole time I had my mace can aimed and ready, don't worry. However, I didn't feel much of a threat. I did feel a lot of pain though, turns out it hurts when you're trying so bad not to laugh. I called my parents on the way home to tell the story because I was giggling, and probably appeared more mad than he sounded. My daddy says that I have a (what did he call it again?) glow about me that makes people think they should talk to me and think (and I quote,) "Who is that angel? I must touch base with her." Daddy says I need to wear dark glasses and do something to deaden that sense about me. Disguise myself when I go out in public. And if someone bugs me, smile nicely and say "I don't mean to be rude, but leave." I'm adorable, flirt with me as you will. Actually don't. I'll get a restraining order.