Friday, January 27, 2012

Serial Killer

"What is it about women and bad boys? I mean, you guys love them!
But you don't seem to know why. No woman I've ever asked has been able to answer that."
This guy, who I don't know, asked me while I was waiting my turn to get my haircut.
He was drinking a cup of coffee from the Starbucks next door and, it's worth mentioning, he was bald.
I smiled and that smile sparked in him the desire to tell me about how he'd moved to Texas from Colorado in search of somewhere warm. That he moved here on a whim; with no job lined up, having never been to Texas in his life. That San Antonio was a large city and he wasn't ready to venture outside of his neighborhood to look for work for fear of getting lost, but instead spent his afternoons playing online poker and letting his neighbor's son shade in his never completed sleeve tattoo.
"People are nice here," he told me, "you can't just talk to strangers like this back home. Or anywhere else I've been, really."  & he proceeded to tell me about all the places he'd lived as a military chef.
As he said this, I took my thumb off the "send" key on my phone, which was just about to post on my twitter page that I was sitting next to a serial killer in this Supercuts and that my loved ones should call me within the hour to make sure this guy wasn't sniffing my hair in the back of his truck while holding me at gunpoint.
At any rate, he kept talking.
About everything.
& I kept smiling and nodding politely wondering what he was waiting for in this Supercuts but not asking.
One by one, the women ahead of me got their hair trimmed and left.
I patiently waited for one of them to turn out to be a friend of his, or his wife, or girlfriend.
To no avail.
Everyone ahead of me had left, and he was sitting inside before I came.
He had not been waiting for anyone.
It was my turn and as the beautician beckoned me to her station, I said,
"I think women like the challenge of bad boys. You want to know you're a choice; not just the next girl in a desperate man's search for 'the one.'"
He thought about what I said and nodded to himself.
As I sat in the stylist's chair, I heard the door close and looked out of the corner of my eye to see that he, the bald guy drinking coffee in a Supercuts, had left.
"What a crazy fuck," I thought to myself.

2 comments:

  1. Wow you sure do attract all the talkative ones!

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    Replies
    1. I don't know what's wrong with me, Lexa.
      Strangers always think I want to talk to them.
      80% of the time, I'm just trying to find a quiet place to eat my tuna sub without judgment.

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