Last week, #3 Son had goalie camp in a town 90 minutes from ours.
Here's the thing, if you're Canadian, you know that the distance traveled is measured in time. I mean, duh, right?
Okay, for you mileage fans, that would be 105 miles, each way, for like, too long. It works out to 840 miles/1200 kilometres over 5 days. Fun, eh??
Anyway, 90 minutes, each direction, from Sunday through to Thursday.
I worked a deal with My People, also known as my husband, and stayed over Sunday night. I thought it would help. Nope. I freely admit, here and now, that he was entirely right. I should have just come home that first night. All the stuff to stay one night? So not worth the money and hassle.
Annnnnnnnyway, I drove to Moncton on Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. I drove home on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.
We'd leave home at 9am, and return after 7pm. By the time we'd get home, we were both zombies. We'd zone out for a bit, then crawl into bed.
So, after our morning drive, I'd drop him off and then zip around Moncton. I'd shop, but only thrift stores, and then eat my home-made sandwich in the van, THEN go into a local Starbucks that seemed to have oodles of people "working" . A few may have been people watching...maybe.
But Thursday was the BEST, because in that Starbucks, a few of us were party to what one could justifiably call "a creepy old man" hitting on a very young lady. And she was a lady, even to his lecherous behaviour.
There were 3 of them in a meeting, sitting in a corner with 4 chairs, the younger woman and the older guy there to listen to a middle aged guy who acted like he was the key to saving each and every businesses in Canada, just with his wisdom. About as humble as a singing peacock dipped in glitter, only not as smart. A truly smart business guru would never speak as loud as this guy did, because hello, secrets to success spewed in Starbucks for the price of a posh coffee?
Anyway, after the meeting was over, the guru/notreallyaguru left. And the nice young lady sorted her stuff and seemed to want to just sit and ponder. She did not have a vain air about her, just simply one of well educated confidence. Very much a "I know who I am and I don't need to brag" kind of person.
Well, clearly Mr White Linen Trousers And Long Wavy Hair was not exactly going to walk away from this meeting without giving the old college try.
And I mean, old. As in, graduated in the 1950's. I'm sure it was no fault of his own, but his legs were somewhat bowed. As in, an old cowboy who had never gotten off his horse. Ever.
Or left his home on Fantasy Island.
So, let's review: an aging cowboy physique, shoulder length grey hair, brilliant white baggy linen pants, blue button down shirt, brown leather wingtip shoes, serious tan, and no capability to use an inside voice.
Nice young woman, definitely an introvert.
I think, maybe it's just me, but as soon as those two were alone, I think the older guy, let's call him Mr Roarke, started playing instrumental Michael Bolton songs in his head.
He leaned toward her. Smiled. Heard the imaginary saxophone music playing their song, flicked on the imaginary wind machine, fixed his imaginary bowtie, and went for the kill.
Only...girlfriend hit the brakes. BAM. Screeched her tires. Back it up, pal.
The whole time he was chatting her up, I'm sure all she wanted to do was laugh. I mean, she and the entire place, knew full well that he was hitting on her. Also, she knew that she had witnesses in case he did anything truly gross.
Dude? Ya nasty.
As he chatted, he inched closer toward her in his seat-he did, I kid you not- she leaned back just a wee bit, and only gave him a few replies. Mostly consisting of "umm hmm". Very little eye contact.
No hope, my friends. None.
Did he quit? Noooooo. Mr Roarke ramped it up!
At which point, all of us who weren't looking at all rolled our eyes. I may have gagged.
But that woman? Nope, she would not have it.
He scooted closer, I'm amazed he stayed on the chair. She gave him an "over the rims of her glasses" look. Yup. She fired across the bow.
Instead, he reached toward her, for real, hand in the air , and said "I just wanted to tell you that you're very attractive and very nicely attired and I wish you all the best."
"Mmm hmm, thanks." Barely looked at him. No smile. Nada. Just, meh.
And he sauntered out of there, all proud and poofy as if to say "Oh yeah, she wants me, I can tell."
Kudos to her though, she knew everyone was watching, and she acted very cool and got back to her reading.
It was a very obvious lesson in class, and the lack thereof. He had none. But after he left? She showed hers. She didn't say a word or look around, nothing. She returned to her pondering and left Mr. Roarke to his creepiness. Why feed the beast?
Also? She gave him a solid half hour to be gone. No sense giving him the chance to sit out in his car and then follow her somewhere.
Smart woman, completely clueless man.
And a life lesson: white linen after a certain age is not a good idea.