Have I mentioned that I get touched inappropriately sometimes? In fact, it's not unusual at all. On the hips, butt, upper thigh, back, kneecaps. All of the naughtiest of body parts. And quite near the the hidden treasure -- the shrinking violet.
I mean, believe me, I'm no prude -- quite the opposite. In fact, if it were a 25-year old hottie touching me in, you know, "that way," I wouldn't be complaining at all (I may even send out an invitation). It happens at work. With some regularity. I spend most of my life with my midsection at eye and finger poking level of my customers. And for reasons I cannot explain, customers sometimes feel it okay to poke, prod, touch instead of saying "excuse me" when they need something. It's a weird phenomenon. I can't think of any place that any of us go to where it is ever appropriate to reach out and touch someone that we don't know. A restaurant? Post office? Grocery store? Bus? Work? Nope....no place that I can think of. Except in an airplane, apparently. I have had one man tell me to "get your ass out of my face"...but that's a whole other story from years ago.
My typical responses when it happens are one of these three: (1) I turn right around and poke them back on their shoulder and say, "You poke me, I poke you....now what may I help you with?" (2) or "I'll give you one poke for free and then I'll expect a $50 bill on the nightstand"; (3) or"I'll give you one poke for free but then I'll have to charge you."
And the funny thing is that if I could figure out exactly when, and by who, the touching was going to occur, I get the funny feeling that I may just make an intentional, deliberate, point to turn right toward them at just the precise moment so that their bony little finger would mash itself right squarely into my you-know-what. I sort of think it would be entertaining to watch their face and see their reaction as I yelled, "Hey, that's my weenie you're touching!" But knowing how checked out most of the traveling public is nowadays, it probably wouldn't phase them. They wouldn't even get what had happened. They'd just look at me funny and then continue right on with "Gimme another cream and sugar," like they usually do. The more refined and astute would utter the compliment, "Oh, and nice wee-wee, by the way." One can only hope.
I mean, what am I? A prostitute for poking and prodding? Don't answer that.