My ex-husband has dubbed me a “weirdo magnet”. Over 20 years ago he said, “If there is a weirdo out there, he’s going to find you.” That statement made me question him, but he really isn’t weird at all, and he is right. Yesterday’s experience at the neighborhood gas station further proves his theory that I am, in fact, a weirdo magnet.
Who is out at 6AM, seriously? I thought only people headed to work and maybe a few headed home were all I would ever have to encounter at a gas station at 6AM. I thought if I just stayed home after dark, I’d be doing all I could to prevent weird encounters. I was wrong. That happens sometimes. I was at the gas station yesterday morning at sunrise, pumping some $3.69 high-test into my sports car when my peripheral vision spies a tiny little man about my size standing off to my left.
Before I turned to make eye contact with him, I made my eyes as beady and ferocious as I could and puffed up my 100 lb. frame as much like Mr. Clean as possible, and turned to the man. Instantly and measuring him up, I wondered, “Can I take this guy if I have to?” I decided in a split second that I could if I needed to. He was a little old man. I got this! We make eye contact and he blurts out, “Fleemoneyfoyou!” So fast that I can’t understand him. I said, “What?!” In my most ferocious tone, and he says again, “Flee money! You! You nee flee money!” I still didn’t get it, so I said in a rather aggravated tone, “What exactly is it you want?” The man speaks again very very slowly. “You…. get…. faaaleeeeeee…. money! I help you.” Now, I’m mad. Why is there a weird little old man telling me I need flee money at a gas station at 6AM? Willing the pump to stop, I raise my ID card up like a weapon and state, “Ain’t nothin’ free, buddy!” And the little old man starts to bow to me with his hands out as he backs up, “Okay, okay, no flee money, no flee money!”
No Flee Money
While the rest of my day was uneventful, I won’t soon forget my weirdo magnet encounter with “flee money”.