I'm assuming most women know what I'm talking about. Am I right?
I should establish one thing before I move on. I was not a "hot" teenage girl. During the time when my appeal to creepy older men was at its zenith, I had really crappy hair. I wasn't exactly fat, but I wasn't svelte in the least. I was super awkward, and couldn't find an age-appropriate boy to "take me to the mall" to save my life.
But bring a divorced, late-thirtysomething dad into my bagel shop and watch the one-way sparks fly!
When I was 16, I used to spend a lot of time hanging out at Know Name Records, where I would buy records as well as cigarettes. You were supposed to be 18 to buy cigarettes, but there was no problem with that when Mike was on duty. I totally looked like a 16-year-old in the nineties--cargo pants, shapeless L7 t-shirt, braces--but Mike could see past this horror show to the teenage knockout within.
One day he peered over the counter. "Nice bumpers," he said.
I tried to act nonchalant--after all, this was my nicotine dealer--but I probably accidentally looked a tiny bit alarmed.
"They're new," he said, and I realized he was talking about my shoes.
The next time I went in, he chatted me up more than usual.
"So, what are you doing this weekend?" he asked me. I was noncommittal, since what I was doing was probably along the lines of smoking pot out of an apple in someone's basement.
"I'm going to the Run Westy Run show at the Entry," he said. "Wanna come?"
I asked him if it was a 21+ show, and he confirmed that it was. He must have thought I had a fake ID--but of course, he'd never asked to see it.
"Uhhhh..." I said. "I don't think I can. I'm not 21."
Mike acted shocked. "Really?" he said, as if he was actually surprised.
One night when I was working at Bruegger's Bagels, a middle-aged dude came in with his two kids. I got them their food and sent them on their way, and went back to my food service tasks. But every time I looked up, the dude was staring intently at me. I pretended not to notice.
Time passed, and he approached the counter. He ordered something else. "You make a damn good bagel sandwich," he said.
Later that night, after I'd sweeped and scrubbed and mopped the floors at the bagel shop and was back at my parents' house, the phone rang. It was probably close to 10 pm. "It's for you," my dad said, all abrupt the way he always was if anyone male ever called me (which admittedly wasn't often).
"Hi, this is Tim," said a mostly unfamiliar voice. (I'd use his real name, but I can't remember it.)
"Tim?" I said.
"Yeah, from the bagel shop," he said. "I was in earlier tonight."
How had he gotten my number? I asked him.
"Oh, I got it from the office. I borrowed the phone, it was right there on the wall."
"Oh," I said. I didn't know what else to say. There was pause.
Suddenly Tim got all rushed. "I really enjoyed meeting you tonight, and I'd like to see you again. I'm supposed to go back to Buffalo early in the morning, but if I can get my flight bumped, could I see you again?"
"What?" I asked. I was still confused as to how he got my phone number. "When, where?"
"Well, tonight," he said. "You could come to my hotel."
His hotel? I imagined his kids--back with their unappealing 35-year-old mother, no doubt.
"Do you know how old I am?" I asked.
"What?" he asked, sounding annoyed. "What does that matter?"
"Well, I'm 16," I said.
Like Mike from Know Name, he pretended to be surprised. "I thought you were at least 21!" he said. What he didn't say was where a middle-aged dude in khaki pants gets off trying to pick up a young girl--even a 21-year-old "woman".
Now that I'm well into my thirties, this kind of thing never happens anymore. Obviously, I guess--what would it be now, some 70-year-old acting all surprised when he finds out I'm not 45? Whatever--I'm sure all the sleazy 70-year-olds have set their girl age cut-off at 22 years old, too.
