Did I Get Hit On?

As I’ve mentioned before I’m not real good at noticing when people are hitting on me.  Here’s a story that’s just more proof of that.

The wife and I had gone to dinner at a particular buffet that I have mentioned before.  I mentioned it because an 8-year-old tried to jack me off in the restroom of said establishment.  Said establishment is Golden Corral.  And yes, I went back after that.  Why?

I would murder a close family member for a lifetime supply of these things.

I would murder a close family member for a lifetime supply of these things.

 

Anyway, we’re not here to talk about Golden Corral’s delicious rolls.  Mostly because they aren’t paying me to mention them.  But no, instead we are here to talk about the buffet cashier.  So the wife and I are getting our drinks and paying, it’s mid-afternoon on a weekday because we were off work on that day.  At that time I had ruined my good cap from painting the new house, so I was wearing a cap that a friend had given me in exchange for helping him move.  It was a cap from Niagara Falls, the Canadian side; so it had a Canadian Flag on the front.

It looked like this.  But slightly less racist.

It looked like this. But slightly less racist.

 

The cashier was a young guy, he looked about sixteen but might have been as old as twenty, for all I know.  He was a little nerdy and seemed slightly awkward, but he did his job well.  I paid with a card and while we were waiting for the card authorization and receipt to print he noticed my hat.  He smiled at me and said, “I like your hat.  What part of Canada are you from?”

Now, even though the hat in question is comfortable, I wear it as little as possible because I get that question a lot.  I generally use the joke, “The Deep South of Canada.  A place called Pennsylvania.”  But then people just give me surprised looks and say, “Wow!  I never knew there was a Pennsylvania in Canada, too!  Is it a state or just a city?”  So now I don’t make that joke anymore…and I try to not wear the hat if at all possible.

But that day I had the hat on and I responded with a simple, “Canada?  Oh, the hat.  No, it was just a gift from a friend.  I’ve never actually even been to Canada…or Niagara Falls at all, as a matter of fact.”

He laughed, a little awkwardly, and said, “Oh, I was just trying to find something to keep talking to you about.”

We laughed, I signed the receipt, and we went to our table.  When we got there the wife grabbed me by the hand and looked me in the eyes, “You know the cashier was flirting with you, right?”

Rich6

 

“What?  That’s ridiculous.  He wasn’t flirting with me.  He was just making small talk.”

 

Mimi3

“Seriously?  Did you not notice his body language?  The fact that, yes sure he smiled at me, but every time you two made eye contact he lit up like a light bulb and giggled like a schoolgirl.”

 

 

Rich2

“What?  He did not…he was just friendly.  Cashiers are supposed to be friendly.  He just…y’know…held on to the receipt and smiled at me.  Fluttering his eyelids while we stared longingly at…each…other…”

 

 

Rich3

 

“Oh god!  The poor kid was hitting on me wasn’t he?”

 

 

Mimi5

“You are such an idiot.  Of course he was…and you were blind to his affectionate advances.”

 

 

 

So, yeah…like I said.  Not really all that good at noticing when people hit on me.  This story device may become a theme on the site as my wife keeps reminding me of other times I’ve done it.

~RCS

The worst thing was…the kid was kind of a cute.  If I were a little less hungry and a little more gay, I might have taken him home.

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