Almost a Run-In

Many, many moons ago I had a run-in with a (ahem) friendly fellow on the Rail Trail. I was out for what was a really long run for me, and this gentleman was on a bike so I was afforded no escape short of pushing him into the reservoir. I had never seen the guy before, although he claimed to be there all the time. His fleece neckwarmer in the middle of the summer gave him a distinct look one would not likely overlook. He would become a stalker.

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Birthday Run '06

Many, many months after I first met this strange dude I was out for my Birthday Run, cruising along happily listening to the musings of David Sedaris. Out of nowhere this strange dude rode up on his bike and starting chatting at me. I pointed to my headphones indicating I was not interested in talking, but he just waited. Sensing he wasn't going to leave my side until I talked to him, I stopped, fished my iPod from my waistband, unlocked it and paused my entertainment with an annoyed exaggeration.

Without getting into the details, the long and short of it is that he hung with me for the next hour or so, agreeing with everything I said and also having an interest in everything I had an interest in. He also indicated that maybe we should "get together" some time and suggested I take a long weekend to go hang at his buddy's camp up in New Hampshire. Uhh, negatory! For some reason I forgot to give him my number.

I used to wonder how girls could be freaked out by freaks who take an interest in them, and say they can't go back to a place because so-and-so might be there. I always thought it would be flattering. I wonder no more. One creepy old neckwarmer sporting guy was enough for me and I haven't run on the Rail Trail since. Bike maybe but I can at least get away on a bike.

I have to admit, I was dying to know what he was hiding under that neckwarmer. It wasn't a tracheotomy hole because he seemed to be aspirating through the holes in his head, and he talked just fine. A hickey? Unlikely, as even someone who wanted to give him one would find it difficult to make a good seal on that old wrinkled neck. And it was a hot autumn day, so the bullshit about it being chilly was simply that, bullshit.

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Calendar Kiosk '08

Yesterday I was perusing the heavily discounted 2008 calendars at the discounted calendar kiosk in the mall. It amazes me that anyone buys calendars before the new year, because as of January 2nd they're 75% off. Okay, so you miss one day, but the deals are great just a few days later.

As I hemmed and hawed trying to decide between the Dilbert box calendar and one entitled Zoo In A Box, containing humorous animal cartoons (akin to, and possibly containing ones from Far Side, which they did not have) I heard a familiar voice. One side of the conversation was lively and animated, while the other was annoyed. I peered around the wall o' 'dars and was alarmed to find the strange dude from the Rail Trail, minus the neck warmer. His conversation with the saleswoman went something like this:

Strange Dude from the Rail Trail (SDFTRT): What do you have with, like, kayaks on it?
Saleswoman(SW): Um, I think we're all out of sports calendars.
SDFTRT: Oh, okay. (pause) How about something with, like, cross-country skiing?
SW: Uh, we're all out of sports calendars.
SDFTRT: Oh, that's too bad. Can you see if there's anything with, like, mountain biking?
SW: Yeah, we don't have any sports calendars.
(several minutes of mindless chatter about God-knows-what)
SDFTRT: So do you think there's one with something like (pauses to think of a sport) downhill skiing?
SW: Nope.
SDFTRT: Aw man, that's too bad. Can you see if there's a calendar with inline skating in it?
SW: No, because we don't have any more sports calendars.

At this point I handed over my $4.20 and got the hell out of there. In case you weren't paying attention, this was not the information booth at the entrance to some sort of Calendar District, or even the Customer Service desk at The Calendar Outlet. It was in fact a freaking kiosk with about 20 different calendars, arranged by theme.

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Three words for that guy: Creep A Zoid.

P.S. Cats cats cats. Take that, Bizarro!

Over and Out,
Old Coot