Weird Minnesota, Weird Man

A week before Christmas, I went to Barnes & Noble to pick up a copy of Barack Obama's book for my mom. Naturally, it was on the first display table in the store, yet I chose to walk around aimlessly, paging through books I had no intent of buying. On my way to the cash register, a book called Weird Minnesota caught my eye. It was only $10 and I knew a few people I thought would find it interesting so I began skimming the pages.

Not before long, I realized a gentleman in the customer service line to the left of me had begun looking over my shoulder. He looked from the book to the giant display sign that read, Weird Minnesota, in funky colored letters and the $9.98 price listed below and then down at the table of books. Naive person I am, I thought he was genuinely interested in the book when he pointed to the page and said, "Whoah. That's pretty weird. Where is that located?"

Caught completely off-guard, I couldn't even recall what said item was nor did I know where it was located. I scanned the jumbled words for the answer but all I could really think about was how I avoided conversation with strangers at all costs and was especially not inclined to converse with a gentleman who looked like he played in an 80's garage band.

He then proceeded to look from the open pages of the book to my face. I'd had my face buried so he bent down to my height and began studying my face, saying, "You're beautiful." However vain it may be, there is something flattering about a complete stranger telling you you're beautiful. Nonetheless, garage band front man was not a sight for sore eyes, to put it nicely. He then wanted to know where I worked, what I did, where I was from, blah blah stupid generic small talk.

"What do you do there [at work]?" he asked.
"I'm a technical writer."
"A writer in a bookstore...how ironic."

Haha, good one buddy. I have to say I was intrigued for a minute when he told me he was a writer. He said he'd written a play but it hadn't been published and that he'd written other fiction pieces. I've only met one real writer in the flesh (not counting my professors) so it would have been great to establish connections in the writing world, but somehow I don't feel like I missed out on any open doors by closing the door on him. I think writer meant 'unemployed' or 'creep who hangs around bookstores waiting to prey on young women.'

"I'd love to see you again."
"Sorry, I have a boyfriend."

That was pretty much the extent of our encounter, but he lingered after he made his purchases. I intentionally went to the opposite end of the store to pay for my books, but he [coincidentally] seemed to follow. By the time I left, he was pestering a woman setting up a promotional table about 10 feet away. I exited quickly and quietly.