Friday, April 13, 2012

Perfume & Stuff

I love perfume.  I always wear it to work.  I think it smells pretty, and I consider it to be a favor to others around me.

No, my coworkers do not smell -- not the intended message!  I should clarify here and state that I work in a public library, and some of our patrons can I say this nicely?.... "hygenically challenged".   I don't know about you, but I would much rather smell perfume than unwashed bodies.  Oh yes, for those of you whom have never had the experience,  body odor is the gift that keeps on giving and lingers long after the person has left the building.

Occasionally I will get asked by one of the female patrons what fragrance I am wearing and where I bought it.  I am more than happy to tell them.  I have asked a few patrons what they were wearing as well because they just smelled lovely while I was checking out their books.

On to today's encounter.  Today, it was an older gentleman who commented on my perfume.  I don't mean a nice grandfatherly type asking, like I just solved his gift-giving problem for his daughter's birthday or something.  No.  I'm pretty sure he wasn't homeless, that's about the best I can say.

I'm checking the patron's dvds out, and he says, "You smell real nice.  What's that scent?"

Perfectly normal, right?

So I smile and say thank you, and then he totally doesn't let me answer the question.  He says, "I know that scent.  My ex-girlfriend used to wear the same thing."  Then he paused.

I kept smiling, cause it's my job, and tried to figure out what to say.  Does he still want to know what the perfume is called?  Should I be consoling him about getting dumped?  Where is this conversation going?

Didn't matter, because he didn't stay paused long enough for me to say anything. He looked at me and gave me this sly smile.  Then he says, "I like it.  Brings back goood memories."  Then he winked and left.


Can you take a shower in hand sanitizer?  I was seriously considering it.  We do have an enormous container of it in the back room. 

Why, why in the name of all that is holy is it never a normal guy that hits on me at work?  By normal I mean sane, living some place other than his car, has more than a passing familiarity with hygiene, and at least appears to have a job.  Is that really too much to ask for?

Since I started working at the library I have had the following:

--The drunk stalker who wrote bad love poems on the internet, was in and out of rehab, and tried to sell his belongings to my coworkers.

--The seemingly homeless man who, in all seriousness, wanted to know if I was the Black Angel of Death.  (It's a long story for another time.)

--The guy who had just finished telling me he was unemployed for 8 months, but wanted to know if I would go out with him because "You're pretty for a white girl".  Thanks, buddy.  I think you can finish that resume on your own now.

--The creepy guy who would come in and stare for hours while pretending to read the newspaper.

--The kid who asked me to go to the prom so I could buy beer for him.

There are more, but you get the general idea.

I'm like flypaper for freaks, I swear.

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