Fortunate Man

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I begin and end my working day on a high note. I'm lucky that way. It's one of the benefits of joining a vanpool and riding as a passenger. I've been in this one for over a year now.

They're good people except for one woman. She thinks, because we’re both single, we should be dating. I've bluntly told her, on more than one occasion, that I am not interested, but she continues. Odd? Yes, but that's how she is.

Sometime last spring, she took her crusade public by asking me an ungodly question in front of the others - "When are you coming over to my house?". No kiss, no foreplay, just immediately into a fine-hello-how-do-you-do-show-me-your-knickers.

Everyone waited for my response. What they didn't know is she had asked me the same question (a bit more explicitly) in private and I had politely declined. Now, I was an unwilling participant in her afternoon show.

"I don't date women I know", I replied. She scrunched up her face and said, "I don't understand". I shrugged my shoulders, "That's how I am". "So, you like blind dates?" "No, I'd rather know a woman before I date them." "But, you just said you don't want to know women before you date them." "Well, I changed my mind."

She was well past flustered, "You're strange. That doesn't make any sense!" "You're right. Maybe that's my problem." "Well, you won't get dates that way!" The van got very quiet while everyone hid their smiles. She was quite oblivious and I was still quite free.

Since then, she's offered a few more times and I've declined, which has pi$$ed her off. Thinking something was wrong with me, she asked whether I was gay. "Nope, I like women, but thanks for asking." Whatta knucklehead.

So, you can imagine how I felt last week when, after a long day, I reached the lobby and there she was - holding a court of one. No one else from the vanpool was around. I looked about and couldn't find anyone else to talk to, not even George, our favorite security guard. George, who was known for his quick wit, had abandoned me when I needed him the most. George was a smart man.

I needed to sit down and the only chairs available were next to her. I sat down and silently waited for God's answer to my cry, "Please. Take me. Now". Well, He wasn't listening. Or She wasn't listening. Somebody wasn't listening, cuz Vanpool Woman started talking to me just as I waved at a lady friend walking by. You could tell by the way we smiled that we knew each other.

"Do you know her?" It was an accusation from VW.

"Well, yes", and continued smiling. VW continued with her soliloquy.

God, that woman could tussle the life from a conversation as easily as I breathed air. I continued to ignore her as she prattled on about something. She didn't care. She wanted an audience and I was it. Lucky me.

Everything was going along swimmingly. I was talking to friends and she was talking to someone sitting in my seat. All of that ended horribly when it came to the part of her soliloquy where I was to respond.

"Weren't you listening to me?!" I stared at her blankly wondering why I even cared to respond. Yet, an excuse was needed for this petulant child. Bad blood in a vanpool can make unholy alliances.

I fumbled something out of my pocket of lame excuses and plopped it on the floor between us.

It writhed with displeasure, grumbling about the sudden daylight it hadn't seen in years. The excuse looked up at her and hurriedly tried to scurry back into my pocket, wanting nothing to do with the she-devil who would shortly consume it - tail and all. It pleaded for the continued warmth of its gummi-bear existence, but, as Caesar, I condemned it. It mewed its acceptance and climbed into her hand.

She savored my excuse for two reasons: it was from a man and it was for my inattentiveness. In short order, the excuse was gone and she went on with whatever her dear departed husband should have heard.

Lucky B@stard.

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