the eight crazy strangers: number three

This man invented things.

Yet again, I was riding the metro, and this man sat down next to me. He had a big backpack, and asked me to hold something for him while he got himself organized. I am criminally polite. So he sat down, and obviously started making conversation.

Him: I like your toes! Did you do that yourself!?
Me: Oh... no, I got them done at an airport... in New Jersey.
Him: Oh! I thought you did that yourself! I thought, damn! I wonder if she'd paint MY toes!
Me: Um... Yep. Nope.

He then asked me about every one of my bracelets.

Him: I like that one! I like blue! Did you make that?
Me: Oh, no, it was a gift from my mom's friend.
Him: I thought you'd invented it!

In the name of politeness, I had to ask him about the one bracelet he was wearing, one of those rubber ones that we all used to have in eighth grade. It said something on it about living life to the fullest or something.

Him: This bracelet! This is the best! I have this with some of my friends - we invented this. Some guys want to get wasted and drink a lot of beer, and other guys like to drink wine, you know?! I have a friend, and he's a surfer guy, blonde hair, he's a California guy, and one day he was surfing and got bit by a shark! Took his leg off! Now he doesn't have a leg! So we all got these bracelets, to be like, live life! We invented this!

He then told me about his hat. He invented that too. It was blue. I am 100% certain that this man was high, but he might have been my favorite crazy stranger. He never asked for my number, but did tell me to listen to his radio show that's on "all day, all night" (There is never a time that this man is not on the radio).

I did try to listen. He must have been on his break.

Love always,
Clara

the eight crazy strangers: number two

This one, I met on the metro, and I don't think he was exactly trying to pick me up, like the last one was. Regardless, he qualifies as a crazy stranger.

This man sat down next to me on the red line and immediately struck up conversation. Metro people do this sometimes. I find it a little weird (I find that in most circumstances I am more than happy to sit quietly and listen to "Sparks Fly" on repeat until I arrive at my destination), but to each their own. I'm also really bad at not engaging in conversation. Call it my fatal flaw. Whatever.

So he sat down and asked me where I was headed. This, I think, was the only thing he said in the ten minutes or so that we spoke that made any sense. I told him I was meeting a friend for dinner, and asked him the same.

Man: I was gonna play pool with my friend. But I want to go to church. So I was going to meet this friend, and I'm taking the metro to get to his place, and he tells me he's already left. Where're you getting off?
Me: Um... Dupont Circle.
Man: Me too! I have to get off at Dupont Circle so I can walk back to my house, and it's going to take me half an hour, and I already don't have time to go to church!

I should add that this was not a sunday and he never elaborated on why he wanted to go to church so badly.

I asked him why he couldn't just take the metro back to his house (seeing as he had chosen to take the metro from his house to his friend's). He said that the walk back was really short.

Me: So... why don't you get off before Dupont, and then you won't have as far to walk?
Man: Because my friend lives around Dupont, but he's not even there anymore!
Me: Exactly!
Man: Oh man, I don't even have time to go to church. I just want to play pool and go to church.

This crazy stranger wasn't trying to get into my pants I don't think. He was just crazy.

John: Clara, do you think he might have been... on drugs?
Me: Oh! Maybe.

That is in fact a distinct possibility.

Love always,
Clara

the eight crazy strangers: number one

I've referenced the eight crazy strangers, and I've committed to writing about them, but I'm still trying to figure out how to string them into a narrative that makes any sense.

The thing is, when I got to DC, I'd pretty much just left Italy, where the men are affectionate, to say the least. My roommates and I even talked about what a let down it would be when we got back to the states where strangers didn't call us beautiful every single day.

Harassment is harassment, but I'm not going to say it doesn't feel kind of awesome to have a complete stranger on the street say that you are "fantastic"

Complete stranger: [stops his car in front of me] You are fantastic.

That happened.

So, given that context, I may have taken these events in stride more than one ought to. But for the month of August, the men of Washington DC were more like the men of Bologna than I had ever known them to be.

Introduction concluded, let us begin. I was working, as you may or may not know, in an office in DC for the month, doing intern things (or non-things, as the case may be). Because I am not the social-est of butterflies, I tended to get lunch by myself and read a book or something. My preferred lunch spot was a little while away, and on the way there, I walked by a lot of those buildings with the shiny windows.

Does anyone have the ability to walk by those without subtly checking oneself out? I can't help it. I just want to know if my skirt still looks okay. I'm still a little bit uncomfortable in business casual! A lot of people interpret it as arrogance, or crippling insecurity, or whatever, but when I see a moving shiny thing that looks like me, I want to look at it.
So I'm checking myself out in the shiny window building when a man stops me.

Man: Hi, I don't usually do this, but you're very beautiful. Do you want to get drinks sometime?
Me: Oh! Thanks! Um... actually I don't have a fake ID. Thanks though!

And I flit on my way.

I feel like I said that just to make him feel uncomfortable about asking someone underage out. That's totally my prerogative, right?
Right.

Love always,
Clara