A brown-bagged, unchilled bottle of BB's favorite vintage in hand, I step out into the sunlit parking lot and start toward my ride. Noting how the bright day only enhances the many layers of grime, I try to remember the last time anyone but Mother Nature has given it a wash.
"Drive a truck, huh?" I glance up to see the curious owner of the voice sitting in a car several spots down.
"Yep," I reply while unlocking my door and wondering, Really? In the liquor store parking lot? Do people find love in parking lots? Is that what I've been doing wrong? Public Transportation: Cupid's Sworn Enemy
"That's cute." The man and his car near me as I place my package on the seat. "Are you getting the attention you deserve?" he asks, pulling to a stop.
"Probably not. But who ever really is?"
"Hold on. Let me give you this." He steps out of his car and hands me a slip of paper, already adorned with his name and number.
"Give me a call if you want to talk, or if you're ready to be treated like you deserve." With that, he is behind the wheel again and setting off.
About six weeks ago, I was approached by a representative from one of those human pheromones outfits to do a review of their product. You know what I'm talking about, right? You're supposed to wear these scent-less pheromones and attract more of the men folk (or women folk, if you're into that).
Seeing as I've been a big ol' blog slacker, I took 'em up on it, figuring it'd at least be decent fodder for a post. They sent me a small vial of what looks like olive oil, asking that I, in return, write at least 300 words (of my choosing) about their stuff and include three links to their site.* So, for the last several weeks, I've been doing a little experiment with the pheromones.
After getting over the slight embarrassment of having a package clearly labeled HUMAN PHEROMONES hand-delivered to my desk** by a colleague, I began the experiment that afternoon. I rolled a few dabs of the oily substance on my wrists, trying not to consider what, exactly these "pheromones" are made of.
Half an hour later, I walked into the grocery with a short list. Not 10 steps into the store, I noticed an older, disheveled man looking intently at me. I nodded curtly at him, and went about my business, keeping an eye out all the while for any appealing menfolk who might get a whiff of the unscented pheromones and come running my way.
A cute guy in his early thirties smiled and blessed me when I sneezed in the produce section. I lingered there a moment, pretending to scrutinize bananas, despite my aversion to the thick-skinned fruit.
Once it started rolling, I couldn't stop my disgustingly optimistic and naive train of thought from going full steam-ahead. He's cute. And nice. And he knows how to pick out a kiwi. Wouldn't it be awesome if he asked me out? And then we ended up together? I'd become the freakin' pheromones spokesperson, traveling the country - nay! the world! - to tell people about this fast-acting-wonder-potion-o'-love. 'I wore this stuff for less than an hour and met my soul mate! Can y'all believe it?!?!?'
Cute guy turned and left, doing me the favor of squashing the small, disgustingly annoying hope that was rising, unbidden, within me. I stopped palming the bananas and headed down an aisle that actually had, yanno, stuff I needed.
As I turned, I noticed the old, disheveled man behind me. He was still staring, this time with a creepy little smile. When I stopped, he kept walking, but we weren't to be separated for long. I turned down the next aisle, and he was right there. Every time I left him behind, he popped right back up again, even when I crossed the store fully (twice!) to get items I'd missed the first time through. For an old guy, he was pretty quick.
Fortunately, as I mentioned, I had a short list and soon found myself parted from my octogenarian would-be lover.
Creepy old man following me around in the grocery store? Is that what pheromones do for me?
Actually, it happens all the time. Okay, not all the time. But often enough for me to know it probably has more to do with me than with the substance in the little vial.
As far as creepy guys go, this one seemed, at least, to be of the harmless variety. I'm pretty sure that if he could get it up, he'd think fondly of me while expelling his little swimmers. I'm also pretty sure that he can't, in fact, get it up. Neither of those things is my concern, though. If I hadn't been conducting an experiment, this creepy old guy would've just gone into the fuzzy mental log I keep of all the other creepy old guys I've encountered.
As it is, the creepy old guy and the cute produce guy were the only menfolk in the store who so much as looked my way. And, trust me, I was paying attention.
After that, I've worn pheromones, let's see... pretty much everywhere. I wore the stuff daily for about a week and a half. In that time, I don't think one guy who didn't have to talk to me did. I had to start spacing out my experiment days because the lack of interaction with males was really bumming me out.
So, what? Did they send me the wrong vial? The one dudes are supposed to wear to attract the ladies? Or is this stuff doing exactly the opposite of what the marketing claims? Or maybe my hair was just crap for those six weeks?
No. Definitely wasn't the hair.
Oh, and dude in the parking lot?
- No, I haven't and won't call him.
- Dude has some serious cajones. I give him props.
- Even if it was creepy, he pretty much made my day.
- And, no, I wasn't wearing the pheromones.
I can attract creepy men all by myself, thanks muchly!
* That's my disclaimer, y'all. I know this ain't the Times, but I do like to maintain some semblance of journalistic integrity (even if it's all in my head).
** No way was I giving my home address to some stranger on the internet who found me through this blog... At least my office has security.
