I Blame Barnes and Noble

How many times in my life have I been mistaken for a male prostitute? Ohhh, I don't know, let's say seven. Almost always, it's a delightfully light-hearted affair, something ripped straight from a sitcom. Last night was the exception. A little Indian guy tried to proposition me, and it was absolutely terrifying.

Here's the set-up. I'm at Barnes and Noble last night, in the nerdiest section of the store (Programming books). Not only am I in the nerdiest section, I am in the nerdiest single shelf (Object Oriented Analysis). There I am, minding my business, when a guy passes by and starts talking to me about the book I'm holding. He seems like a nice enough guy, so we chat back and forth a little bit about software development and where each of us works. He is a tiny Indian man, around 35 years old.

All through this conversation, I'm not really putting it out there. It should be noted that I was wearing pants, and I was also taking pains not to lick my lips and wiggle my booty. I know the effect that has on people (males and females), so I take pains only to use such actions for good and never evil.

Anyway, we're talking and he's slowly getting a little bit weirder. He veers from talking about programming to discussing nutrition. I'm just being friendly at this point; I subsist almost entirely on a diet of bacon grease and butter milk so nutrition doesn't interest me at all. Despite that, I talk to the guy and make nice, even though he is starting to look a little glassy-eyed. And then, he dropped a casual question my way.

"So tell me," he says, "are you open-minded?"

"About what?" I say. "I guess when it comes to nutrition and stuff, I'm pretty open-minded."

"No, not that or your job either. Are you open-minded?"

"I don't understand," I declare. (And in my defense, I didn't. He could've been talking about anything: religion, politics, the designated hitter. Unfortunately, interleague play was the least thing on his mind.)

"How about some night, we get together to talk?" he asks coquettishly.

Ahhhhhhhhhh, I see. While absent-mindedly browsing some computer books, I inadvertently sent out the HUMP ME signal. Woops. Yes, this is all strange, I think, but not totally bizarre. I am, after all, a little bit of a looker.

"I'm sorry, I'm not into that," I tell him. "Good luck with your job." With that, I begin to walk away. If anything, I feel a little sad for the guy. Here he is in Barnes and Noble, trying to hook it up with computer nerds. I am tempted to turn around and yell, "There is someone out there for you, tiny Indian man!"

My new acquaintance, for what it is worth, is not ready to end our interaction. No sir, not by a long shot. He has one last, desperate card to play. And play it he does, thus freaking me out for the rest of my life.

"Wait," he yells. "I'll pay you. You can make a lot of money."

In retrospect, I should've asked how much. I don't know how much male prostitutes make exactly, but I could do a little research and determine where I stand on the scale. Instead, I ran into the childrens book section and cowered for a few minutes.

If someone described all of that to me, I'd probably find it pretty funny: one computer nerd tried to pay another to have sex with him! But when it actually happened to me, laughter was the last thing on my mind. No sir, I went straight to a whispered torrent of profanity that has yet to subside. When it came time to leave the store, I walked out on my tippy toes, wary I'd bump into him again. When I finally got home, I locked the doors and bathed myself over and over again, trying to wash the creepiness from my skin.

Little Indian Man, you need to refine your social skills. Just because someone makes smalltalk about C++ with you does mean that someone trade money for intercourse with you. Take some charm classes, go to the gym, and give 'em hell, tiger. Just keep it out of the programming aisle.

Posted by Cody at July 21, 2005 6:26 PM