(Special dedication to Mama Bandit Denise Freeman... because I know she has a heart...lol)
There's one in every girl's life...
And that is: An Old Man who tries to run up on you, like he still got it.
That Old Man that think he got some rap left.
A Dirty Ol' Man.
Mine is an Old janitor on the job. He's not very tall, and shuffles when he walks, sort of like a zombie. He has a lazy eye, so I can't tell if he's looking at me. His hair sticks up all over his head, and he wins the bad teeth award.
It's almost like he's lying in wait for me, waiting for me to walk around a corner, just so he can say...
"Hey Sweet Thing."
I cringe when I hear those three words, or even as I hear the creepy creak of his garbage can on wheels.
And it's even worse when I'm waiting for the elevator, pressing the call button repeatedly (as if that will make it come faster).
And I kid you not, not a day goes by that the elevator doesn't slowly open, and there he is standing there, with his stinky garbage can. When he sees me, he smiles broad, showing his brown crooked teeth (a few are missing).
He always croons "Hello Ferleesher."
"Hello," I say. My voice is like that of a cheap robot.
My curt reply never deters him. I think it pumps him up or something. It boosts his confidence or something.
A convo takes place on the elevator. I am up against a wall, as far away from hm as possible. He leans on his garbage can like he's leaning on a bar in a nightclub, enjoying his favorite drink.
Before the elevator doors slide open, he always says in his low scratch voice...
"Can I take you out to lunch?"
My answer is ALWAYS "I brought my lunch."
(I throw up a little in my mouth every time this happens).
And my name isn't "Ferleesher". I have no idea where he gets that from. I don't correct him. People laugh at this. My reasoning is that if I'm at the Wal-mart, or somewhere away from the workplace, and he sees me and yells "Ferleesher!", well... I technically don't have to turn around.
For that is not my name.
He flirts hard with several of the women on the job.
(It's as if he stands in the mirror every day and speaks softly to himself "I am Denzel Washington...I AM Denzel Washington.")
We all cringe as we talk about it.
Now, it would just take one simple phone call, and me putting on my serious "Dr. LadyLee" persona, to complain and get this man fired.
But I won't do that. I don't want to be responsible for anyone losing their job.
LadyLee has a heart, you see.
I just tune him out. We all are mildly interested when he talks about his being part of a Chitlin circuit gospel group. He brought in pictues. In those, he looks like he is dressed up and looks like he got a bit of sense.
He has some good in him, I suppose. But he is still a flirt. I continue, over these past 7 or 8 years, just to stay out of his way as best I can.
But there was one incident that pissed me off almost to the point of making a few phone calls.
I was in the lab one day by myself, working hard, listening to some old school music, enjoying myself (as much as can be at work), when my work group Super Hero
The Infamous Hen-Dog, runs in.
He is laughing so hard that he can hardly breathe. I look at him, then back at my experiment. He leans on me, trying to catch his breath.
"What's wrong with you?" I ask.
"You won't' believe what Mr. Billy said about you!" he hollers, all the while trying to catch his breath.
"Whatever," I say.
Hen-Dog finally catches his breath, and says, in a low and gravelly voice just like the Dirty Ol' Man, "I was talking to him, just shooting the breeze, when he said 'Yeah, I saw that Ferleesha walking down the hall."
I roll my eyes hard.
Hen-Dog had yet another hard laughing fit before he could continue.
"He said, 'Yeah, I saw that girl. I spoke to her, ask her how she been. Told her I hadn't seen her in awhile, wonder where she been."
"Yeah, I saw that dude rolling that trash can down the hall."
Hen-Dog had another laughing attack. He was beginning to irritate me.
Hen composed himself and continued. "He said 'Yeah, I asked that girl where she been, and she started just blushing! She said 'I been here'."
What. the. hell.
I almost dropped what I was doing.
"What?" I yelled.
Hen-Dog had another laughing conniption fit.
"Blushing?" I yell. "Are you serious? You know good and well that ain't true, man."
"I know, I know," Hen said. "He just be talking."
"Ya'll need to correct that dude when he's lying like that."
"Oh, he's just tryng to compete with the young dudes, that's all."
"Whatever! Not at my expense." I cringed at the very thought of it.
"Dude is a liar. I am not blushing over him."
Hen-Dog has a bad habit of hyping the Dirty Ol' Man up. He probably listened to these lies with a straight face.
I was not happy about that. It would take just one phone call of complaint to the janitorial service that services our building and he would lose his job.
I won't do that. I would just rather avoid him. (Which is impossible).
His wife picks him up everyday from work. I find it very interesting that he doesn't spin his "rap" when his wife is outside. He shuffles hard towards the door and down the stairs, being sure not to eye me with that lazy eye of his.
I imagine myself rapping on her window and kindly asking her to tell her husband to stop harrasing me.
She probably already knows he's A Dirty Old Man.
And I wouldn't bust a joker up like that.
LadyLee has a heart, you see.
But I will just continue to avoid him as best I can. For I can hear the creak of the wheels of his garbage can a mile away.
*LadyLee turning around and walking FAST in the opposite direction*
The other day, The Dirty Ol' Man stopped me in the hall and said "I heard a name on the intercom, and I asked somebody who it was they were talking about, and they said it was you. I been calling you Ferleesher all these years? You should've told me that wasn't your name."
I stare blindly, and shrug. (I wonder if that would be mistaken for blushing?).
So now... when I turn a corner, he's usually there, tying up a trash bag.
He beams when he sees me, and yells "Helllloooo Aleeeeeeeshaaaaa!! How are you today, sweet thing?"
"Fine," I reply, my voice flat as an iron, edged with venom.
And the saga continues.
Luckily, Hen-Dog hasn't come running in the lab, screeching and laughing.
I would hate to lose my heart, and make a few phone calls.
Nothing worse than a Dirty Ol' Man who still think he got some rap left.
Hopefully, he will someday see the light, and leave me alone.
That probably won't happen.
(Maybe I should make sure to blush in front of his wife. I think that will clear it all up. Real fast. LOL)
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