Yesterday, I drove to Seattle in the hopes of getting some of the free gasoline they were giving away in Queen Anne. As it turns out, doing a promotion which causes an even greater traffic frenzy during the already normally-frenzied rush hour is a STUPID IDEA. It lasted all of half an hour before getting shut down, well before I even found my way into the general vicinity. No free gas for Mellzah. At that time of the day, all southbound highways are essentially parking lots, and none of this part of the story matters except that it means I travelled EAST into Kirkland to pass time until I could go home.
And lo, time passed. Then came the self-reasoning: Since I’m already here, I might as well stay for karaoke. And stay for karaoke I did.
Well into the evening, an elderly Japanese man (80 if he was a day) approached the table I was sitting at, and started making small talk with Scott. He said he’d be singing some Elvis, and over the course of the conversation, he reached out and touched my cheek twice. A little strange, yes, but the bar is loud and perhaps he was just trying to get my attention. Even though it wasn’t a conversation that I was participating in. Nothing unusual there. Nosir.
Later on, as I was walking past him, he asked me if I’d ever slow-danced before.
“You….uh…can…uh…do now with me.”
So, I decided to humor the elderly Japanese man. Ne’er ye mind that I don’t particularly like being touched by strangers. He’s OLD. I cannot possibly say no.
All of ten seconds later, he’s slow-dancing with me. And not a respectful distance sort of slow-dance, oh no. As I am growing increasingly uncomfortable, he begins singing a song about the month of September to me. I wanted to call out the universal safe word (banana!) but no one in the vicinity seemed likely to rescue me, PLUS he’s OLD and I should humor him because he’s OLD and maybe I am being silly and he’s just trying to be a gentleman with zero creepy overtures whatsoever plus he’s OLD and it should almost be over SOON and THAT is when he whispers in my ear “oh you are-a so cute, baby, what are we gonna do about it?” and GRINDS HIS HIPS INTO ME.
He then asks for my phone number. Oh yes, old Japanese man. That is a lovely idea! Perhaps I could introduce you to my grandfather. You might recognize him from when you fought him in World War II.
I’d been meaning to write here about other recent Freak Magnet incidents–a stranger telling me that I had nice teeth and, by the way, would I like to suck his dick? and also the guy who kept rubbing my hand because he was trying to teach me about ‘Chaos Theory’. Unless the chaos caused is that of my other hand punching you RIGHT IN THE FACE, I’m not buying it, buddy. But I digress. BOTH of these stories have been trumped by the 80-year-old Japanese man grinding his hips into me and trying to smooth-talk me in broken English. I may never have a story that beats THIS story, ever.
Freak Magnet willing, however, I will.