Nice Guy or Stalker: A Bristol Farms Meet Cute Gone Terribly Awry

Ah, yes. This guy. This guy would issue that compliment. Boyish face with an actor-y, fresh-off-the-United-flight from some Midwestern suburbia vibe. I squint through my near-sightedness, trying to decide if I think he's attractive or not. TBD.
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"I'm sorry but, er, you're really beautiful."

I'm sorry, what? Perched unattractively near the bottom shelves of the Bristol Farms refrigerated section, arms loaded with two different brands of chocolate coconut water, hair greasy and unkempt, make-up non-existent, I strain my neck around to see who, in their right mind*, would issue such an unfounded compliment. (Yes, I had already determined that the comment was directed toward me. Because I like to balance my self-deprecation/insecurities with a solid dose of narcissism.)

Ah, yes. This guy. This guy would issue that compliment. Boyish face with an actor-y, fresh-off-the-United-flight from some Midwestern suburbia vibe. I squint through my near-sightedness, trying to decide if I think he's attractive or not. TBD.

Me: Aw, thank you. That's so nice of you to say.

He shuffles self-consciously two and a half feet away, staring unseeing into the glass case of groceries, side-glancing my way every three seconds or so. I immediately feel the need to make him feel comfortable. One, because I'm fairly confident he's new in town and I want him to know that there are nice people here and two, because, judging by his demeanor, it had to be fairly intimidating to [politely] approach a female in public and I've always believed such behavior should receive positive reinforcement.

I offer some chatter on the obvious health benefits of sugar-infused sugar water. He accepts. Er, sort of. He counters by pointing my attention toward his own favorite beverage, insisting I give it a try. He's almost a tad too insistent. Slow down there, Turbo; this lady makes her own decisions -- especially when it comes to hydration.

The conversation progresses [slowly]. I learn that his name is Mike**, he's an actor (I knew it), he's been in LA for less than a year (God, I'm good at this game), he's sober (I take this moment to tell him how I'm still hungover from the night before), and he lives with his manager one street away from me (Oh goodie?).

Mike: Is it hard to make friends out here, or is that just me?
Me: Oh man. I mean, I'm just glad I went to school out here. I feel like people's circles out here can be pretty closed. It's probably a little tough to try and get in there.
Mike: Yeah. I moved out here not knowing anyone. Would you -- uh would you mind if I got your number -- just to like hang out sometime?

I've pretty much decided that he's not at all my type, but I figure I can go to lunch with the guy. He seems fairly non-threatening. I give him my number and open my mouth to say goodbye. My exit plan gets interrupted.

Mike: Are you single?

Caught totally off-guard and being really bad at lying, I answer truthfully.

Me: Uh, yeah.
Mike: Well, uh, would you, um, I mean, would you want to go out sometime? I mean, I don't know if I'm your type, but I know I would really like to go out with you.

GAH. So sweet. I am so bad at saying no to nice people. So I don't.

Me: Um, sure, yeah, that'd be fun.

And by fun, I mean probably super awkward and weird.

Mike: Ok great. Um. When?
Me: Uh, well, the next two weeks are pretty gnarly, schedule-wise.
Mike: Gnarly. Wow. I haven't heard that in a long time.
Me: Ha yeah it's a favorite of mine.

I'm slowly edging backward, hoping this convo is coming to a close.

Me: Well, I should probably-
Mike: So you're not free tomorrow night?
Me: Tomorrow? Uh no. I'm actually heading out to Palm Springs for the weekend.

Too many details, Stacie. Way too many details.

Mike: Ok well...
Me: Just hit me up in a couple weeks and we'll figure out a time.
Mike: Ok. Um. How do you feel about guys with kids?

Oh God.

Me: Do you have a kid?
Mike: Yeah, I've got a 10-month-old little girl.

Great. Now if I turn him down, it's going to seem like I'm doing it just because he has a kid. Awesome.

Mike: Look, here she is.

Mike proceeds to take me through an entire album's worth of photos. My left arm is about to break off from the weight of my basket, but there's no way I'm setting it down and risking prolonging this whole situation.

Me: So cute. Well, I really gotta go. It was nice to meet you.

This time I don't wait for interjections as I make a break for the cash register. He follows close behind. Seriously? There are two other open lanes. Pretty sure you left your social etiquette back in aisle three, Mikey.

Mike: I really would love -- I mean, I hope you really do want to go out with me. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. And you seem nice, not like most of the girls I've met out here.

Oh God. Please say it a little louder; I'm not sure the guys in the deli heard you. This is excruciating. Placating smile. Eye-contact avoidance. Deep breaths.

Outside, breathing in the sweet smell of freedom, I attempt to figure out how I'll get out of the impending date without hurting this guy's feelings. Despite his social awkwardness and bizarrely slow cadence, he seems like a well-meaning dude just looking for a little human connection. Mid-mental deliberation, I receive this text message:

Mike: Awesome and great to meet you. Honestly I am direct and forward but text can be miss construed [sic] but I'd love to do [sic] out and see you soon.

[Insert super generic headshot here]

Just so you remember me

Oh man. A headshot?? What am I supposed to say to that? I decide to respond back with something nice, but appropriately non-committal:

Me: Awesome! Great meeting you as well. Thanks for brightening up my afternoon :)

If he reaches out to set an actual date, I'll find a way to politely decline, but I figure we should be good for now.

...

Hint: We weren't. Click here to find out how this lovely little encounter ends -- er, doesn't end.

This post first appeared on Stacie's blog at ironyisalifestyle.com.

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