I admit it. I am a weirdo magnet.
If I am in a public place and there are scores of people that could potentially be harassed, the crazy-scary-weirdo will seek me out (the way Anna Nicole is drawn to Godiva chocolates within a 10-mile radius) and bug me.
A couple of weeks ago, I was at a Ralphs in K-town, when a old-crazy-scary-weirdo-guy started to talk to me as I was standing in line. What started out as a harmless “Nice weather” culminated in 7 minutes of him talking non-stop about the original Ralphs family & the fact that the checkers at Ralphs wear name tags (“Hi! My name is Mike!” he kept saying).
The supermarket-weirdo electricity must have been in the air again, last Friday. I was in the produce section in Albertson’s when a young (aspiring?) crazy-weirdo jumped out in front of my cart. She cackled endlessly while doing the lame detachable-finger magic trick I learned when I was five. I vaguely remember seeing an old-crazy-weirdo man showing her the trick as I entered the store, Evidently, this was the coolest/funniest thing in the world, and she (of course) had to show me while aisle-blocking my cart into the corner.
After successfully escaping her, I was accosted by the bag boy, who insisted that I guess how old he was (23… I guessed ‘high school age’). He then proceeded to tell me about how he and his friends all have baby faces and look younger than they actually are. Mind you, I did not ASK or CARE how the hell old he was, he just decided to start this not-that-scary-but-kinda-crazy weirdo shit with me.
I was only there to buy my ingredients for my caesar salad…