I was outside of the office building smoking a cigarette like I normally do. I stand there, puffing away at my cool-girl stick watching cars zoom along the boulevard. A man comes up on his mountain bike, a bandanna was tied around his head Tupac style, and he has on biker gloves. You know, the ones with no fingers. On each handlebar a Dollar General bag was tied, each full of cans I assume he got from other people’s garbage cans.
The man: “Another day in paradise, eh?”
“So hows the insurance business treating you?”
“Say, where’d you get that bruise?” as he points to the ginormous teeth marks my son gave me.
“Oh, my son has a biting problem.”
“Let me tell you something … What’s your name? No, I don’t even want to know your name. Boy, watch them as they get older, they only have one thing on their minds. I would know.”
Then he takes off on his 10 speed mountain bike down the road, barely escaping death as he cut off a PT Cruiser going 45 mph.
I finish my cigarette and walk back inside. 10 minutes later the door opens, lo and behold, it was the bicycle man. I hid behind my computer screen. My father-in-law gets up.
“Can I help you?”
“This a family run business?”
“Yeah man, can I help you?”
“There was a girl outside in a polka dotted dress, I wanted to talk to her.”
“Yeah, she’s my daughter-in-law.”
“Oh, she’s married? She told me she wanted my number. Guess I just have that effect on women.”
He then leaves.
At about this time, I died. I literally laid under my desk and threw up, and then died. I have never been so close to death in my life. I would rather swallow miniature knives and shit them out whole then even think about asking that man for his phone number.
This happened 3 weeks ago. I still haven’t heard the end of it. The worst part? My FIL actually thought I wanted his number.