Creeped Out

I wonder why creepy people exist. Seriously...is there some sort of hidden purpose that I'm completely clueless about? Why are they there? And do they all know that they give off such odd vibes? I don't think so. At least, I hope not. I hate to think that there are people in the world who knowingly dress, act, and speak in a way that gives other people goosebumps.

Some of it can't be helped, I suppose. Some men can't help looking like adults but having little boy voices. And some women have eye conditions that prohibit them from blinking in a normal manner. However, barring basic cultural differences and uncontrollable mental conditions, I think that most people should understand that staring is not okay, and walking back and forth past the end of the grocery aisle with a strange smile on their face makes women uncomfortable. I'm not sure I understand why it's so hard to grasp the idea of acceptable social interaction. Just don't stare, okay?

And maybe writing your number on the back of my taco bell receipt, isn't the best way to glean a date. And what does one expect from that? That I would excitedly whip my car around and get back in line at the drive through so that we could converse through the intercom? What?! It just doesn't make sense! The saddest part about that, though, is that such tactics have probably worked in the past.

I'm straying from my original train of thought. As much as horrible pick up lines don't measure up to my acceptable social standards, they aren't always creepy. Sometimes, but not always. (And by sometimes, I am referring to old men in the car next to you who make kissing faces and honk at you while you're sitting at a stoplight. Gross.)

No, the worst kind of social dunces are the creepy ones. I have to assume that they are blissfully unaware of how or why they are driving others away in staggering numbers. I want to assume that because the other option is that they know they are weird and have other motives. I want to assume that, because if people like that know exactly what they are doing, I need to start carrying a can of pepper spray to work. Not for the unseen oddballs lurking outside the hospital, but instead for the one who routinely tries to strike up conversations with me, more often than not, about my appearance. I made the mistake of wearing a skirt to work the other day, only to be rewarded with a long scan of my entire body, and a low, husky, "You look really great in that skirt." Yikes. It was all I could do to keep my gag reflex in check. The only thing missing was the wolf whistle, and my can of pepper spray.

Oddities

I think I'd like to write a book. Maybe not now, or two years from now, but some day. I file away so many details about people and things that I see, and I have so many ideas for characters tucked away in my brain. True-life fictional characters, if you will. For instance, there's a woman I work with who plods in night after night, dragging her rolling suitcase behind her (which is chock full of goodies, I'm sure). Most nights when I walk through the door to my department, I find her suitcase parked in the hallway across from the time card room. Every night it's the same. She walks in, leaves the suitcase in the hall, stamps her time card, then walks down a few rooms to retrieve her pager from the office. Then it's back out to the hall, where she picks up her rolling bag before making her way up to her unit via the elevator. I mention the elevator because I've never seen her use the stairs (it is, after all, only one short flight up). And maybe the elevator is just practical, seeing as how she carries a bulky bag, but still...the same thing, night after night. (Me, I live on the edge...stairs one night, elevator the next. Woo! I'm a traveling wild card.)  

At any rate, I've often wondered what kind of person she really is. Perhaps she leads a tumultuous life outside of work, but I don't think I'll ever find out. Because every time I pass her in the halls, she avoids eye contact until the very last minute, and then only allows a shy sideways glance if I've literally stared her down. Her greetings are only uttered in response to mine, and whenever I've attempted to converse, she's been polite but evasive. I don't get the sense that she has any sort of aversion to me, I just don't think she really talks to anyone. What exactly DOES she think about? Who does she live with, if anyone, and what does she do outside of work? Is there a family waiting for her when she gets home in the morning? What kinds of odds and ends does she carry around in that suitcase of hers? Books? Rubber chickens? Manilla envelopes? I wonder...

In other news, tonight one of the techs found an enormous beetle in one of the patient's rooms. I sincerely hope that the patient was fast asleep during the discovery/capture process, since this thing was gross and would have been a disturbing sight to awaken to. Shortly after I paged the housekeeper, he arrived and picked up said insect, but not before insisting that it couldn't possibly be any larger than some that he'd seen while living in Kentucky. Some of those were "bigger than his fist," apparently. I didn't really know how to respond to that comment. I was equally speechless when he mentioned that he'd take it home and feed it to his snake, although I did nod along with that remark, thinking to myself that he is exactly the type of person I would expect to own a snake. Not that I have anything against snake owners, of course -- Sammy used to be one. In fact, he still has a box of snake skins on a shelf in his old room at his parents' house. (Wowza.) But you know what kind of person I'm talking about. The kind that tells a stranger about his giant insect collection back in Kentucky. That kind.