If I asked my family and friends to decide upon my most annoying quality, it would not be my man hands. Many a vacuum sealed jar of pickles are opened on my watch. I also doubt it would be my loud voice that sounds like a 13 year old boy hitting puberty. Before cell phones, it was the way my baritone voice projected for miles that helped them find me every time I got lost. No, I think if they had to pick only one thing about me to hate, it would be this: I have a staring problem.
I do. It’s so bad, I don’t even know I’m doing it. Just be assured that if you have an unusual air about you, I’m looking at you like a creature under glass. If you are beautiful, I’ll analyze your features to see what it is that works so well. Have an unusually shaped nose or rubbery lips? I’m sorry, but I noticed.
Sometimes I stare so much that I am no longer staring, if that makes sense. Someone or something will draw me in with their crooked toes or luxurious hair and I’ll stare for a second or two (thousand). After that, I’m off in my own mind, focused on whatever thoughts the toes/hair/whatever triggered. I’ve tried to explain this to The Mister every time he leans over and hisses at me between clenched teeth to PLEASE STOP STARING AT THOSE PEOPLE. I tell him that I am no longer staring. I’m thinking while staring into space…which happens to be in the direction of a guy who looks like he is on his way to the Roxbury. According to The Mister, it doesn’t matter where your mind is; so long as your eyes are resting on a person, you’re staring.
Hair splitter.
So today I stared at a man at Trader Joe’s and, if you ask me, he was begging for it.
There is no other explanation for what I saw.
At well over six and a half feet, I would have noticed him in line at the register even if he wasn’t wearing a faux vintage tattoo t-shirt over a fitted Henley, both of which were tucked into leather trimmed jeans. If not his height or clothing, surely his dyed, caramel colored Edward Cullen hair would have caught my eye. Between the height, the clothes, and the hair, I have to believe that I was not so much staring as I was giving him exactly what he wanted: my eyeballs. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, and we’ve established that I am not subtle when I don’t know I’m staring. Being aware of my fixation, I can only imagine that, since I was unable to tear my eyes away, I must have looked like a scene from Who Framed Roger Rabbit with large, cartoonish eyeballs flying out of my sockets on springs.
It wasn’t just that he was dressed, oh, 50 years too young. (And I was worried about growing my hair out!) It was that the rest of him was so…grandfatherly. You would expect a little swagger with so much hip. Perhaps some heavy-handed cosmetic surgery. Nope! Weathered skin, jowls, large ear lobes, and slight paunch all pointed to a man who should be whittling ducks from blocks of beechwood. Too! Much! Cognitive! Dissonance!
At some point I paid for my groceries. I headed towards my prey. I absolutely had to see what shoes he was wearing. Hand to heart, had he been wearing DC Shoes my head would have exploded. Spoiler–I never did get to see his shoes. I dodged an old bird with a cart only to get blocked by none other than Mr. Giacomazzi wheeling a load of bottled water. I moved from side-to-side, hoping for a break in the crowd. Shoes! I must see his shoes!
Suddenly, Mr. Giacomazzi stopped, and right in front of grandpa Hardy! I couldn’t believe my luck. I lurked behind Mr. Giacomazzi, marveling at my good fortune to be wearing a trench coat. It tied in so nicely with my sluethy behavior!
Mr. Giacomazzi looked up at grandpa Hardy and opened his mouth to speak. I was so anxious every hair on my head stuck out around me in a halo of electrically charged anticipation.
“Hello, Leonard. How have you been?”
“Oh, fine. Just getting some last minute things.”
My head shot up like a rocket. Grandpa Hardy’s name is…Leonard?! Leo I can see. Rick. Mason. Maybe even Ralph, but not Leonard. Leonard does your taxes and mows the lawn wearing black socks. He doesn’t wear $200 jeans and pick up frozen edamame for dinner. Then I took a closer look at Leonard’s face and saw a set of eyes so red I thought I was back at college and living two doors down from Rastafarian white guys from Connecticut (religious experience my Grandma Rosie).
Grandpa Hardy aka Leonard was higher than a hot air balloon during Temecula Valley wine season. A toker! A pot head! A rapscallion! Scandalous, maybe. But at least that explains the Ed Hardy.
Are you absolutely sure it wasn’t Leonard Cohen? Rock star/poet? You do live in SoCal, right? I am sure if he was an aging rock star he is used to getting stared at. He probably thought you wanted to be his groupie:)
No Leonard Cohen. ;) I’m telling you–this guy has never set foot inside a plastic surgeon’s office. He looked every bit of 75+ years of age.
I’m just proud of myself for knowing about Ed Hardy. ;)
http://40daysof.wordpress.com/2010/11/12/hamburger-pie/
I could be wrong, but Leonard Cohen doesn’t seem the Ed Hardy type.
Hahahahahaha I love this so much. Not only is it ridiculously well-written, it sounds exactly like something I would do! I’ve been known to chase odd characters around stores, surreptitiously snapping cell phone pictures and mentally recording every detail.
I have a TERRIBLE staring problem too. I don’t even notice that I’m doing it until my family reminds me yet again to pick up my slack jaw and stop making my “eavesdropping face.” I like to say that I’m doing future book/tweet/sketch research.
If I had a fancy phone, I would have totally taken a picture.
Higher than a hot air balloon in Temecula Valley Wine Season.
Ha ha ha! That is totally killing me. I’m half Filipino. Filipino’s are infamous for staring. Nothing wrong with a little curiosity!
Brilliant! absolutely brilliant…you are writing your November book as we speak;))
I love: Too! Much! Cognitive! Dissonance!
Yay! I was wondering if anyone else would think that was funny. :)
This post KILLED me it was so good!
Thank you to the links to clothing items. While your words painted a wonderfully frightening picture in my mind, it added an extra bit of fun to see those awful jeans.
Did you see the geisha on the pockets? Oh my.
if only you had sara jane with you….while your description was hilarious and sooooo image provoking a picture of this “dude” would have been priceless!!
Your writing is my wonderland; I simply love it from the first capital to the final period. You simply must write a book.
How great to live in a town where you can see a “Grandpa Hardy”. I am sure he would make front page of the local paper here.
Ew, ew, and ew.
I totally get the staring thing. I often find myself shaking my head to stop my eyes from making their way back to the odd looking lady, the beautiful man, the strangely dressed teen.
Nothing though, compares with the horror I felt walking into an Abercrombie behind a petite woman, flowing long blonde hair, tight designer jeans, looking rather cool I must say.
Only to have her turn around and release on me the horror of a seventy something face, shriveled neck, age spots, wrinkles and all. Ahhhhhh!!!!!!! I am still scarred.
We could have played match maker!
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How in the world did you NOT get a photo?!?! See, that’s my problem…I’ll take a picture of anything. Don’t really share them….but I’ll take it nonetheless. Example: bloody gauze, broken tooth pieces and an x-ray of my husband’s wisdom tooth extraction. Oh, and the awesome doc that did it. :D
Whew, I was worried until you got to the end, but hey, if he was stoned, then all’s good…I mean, if he had been sober, that would be seriously wrong. ;D
This reminds me of the time, at 3:00AM or so, my friends and I decided to go to Walmart with my DSLR to capture “People of Walmart” moments. (we’re a goofy bunch)
I nearly gave up but upon exiting, in entered a 6’2″ or so, rail tin, black transvestite bedecked in retina-searing neon colors. Tall neon stiletto heels, glittering tights, a wig of thick black curls. He was a shining beacon, I stared but didn’t take out my camera to snap a shot. Too awe-struck at the moment, and not sneaky enough to pull off a picture taken with a huge camera!
Your story is perfection: so bizarre! And I admire your storytelling skills!
I enjoyed the descriptiveness of your story!
I’m not sure Ed Hardy clothing and potsmoking correlate at all, though. Maybe that’s my liberal NW point of view coming out… but where I live the only potsmokers wearing Ed Hardy are actually just cokeheads on a day off.
impeccable writing! absolutely captivating! you, my dear, are as inspiring as always! :) thanks for the laugh and the inspiration!