Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Dirty Old Men

Why oh why do I attract them? From as far back as I can possibly remember I have attracted the attention of many a sleazy retiree. It came in handy during my years as a waitress, boy did I milk some of them for tips. But since taking my hiatus from the hospitality industry, this ability to catch all the old geezers has become a bit of a burden.

I hit a new low yesterday leading to my current acquisition of a stalker. I was killing time yesterday afternoon at a café near our lovely train station (this was probably my mistake, I should have stuck to the cafés in Centre Ville where people keep to themselves, but I digress), reading Pride and Prejudice when a cute (as in old-man cute) tanned and balding man at the next table started to chat. After a few minutes of talking over the table and watching other customers eying up my partially vacant table I agreed to sit with my new friend before I headed off to work. His name was Salah and he is from Morocco. He speaks little English which, compounded with my little French, made for a very comical 15 minutes of conversation. There was much flirting and asking me to be his "bébé" (girlfriend). He is on his one month of vacation in Brussles (from which he will return to Morocco in 2 days time) and after a day trip to nearby Forbach, France, he was awaiting a train to take him back to Brussles. He also tried to get me to come to Brussles with him. This was all despite my very insistent spouting of "No, thank you, but I am married" in my most clear and enunciated English. When I declined accompanying him to Brussles he insisted that I should visit Morocco and I should have his number for when I (we -- I reminded him yet again of my husband) do come for a visit.

So, to sum up this adventure:
I am too nice for my own good.
I like to think the best of people (and in old men this includes them not being dirty sleaze balls!).
I need to avoid crazy tourists near the train station.
I can always find a way to get a free coffee.

After prying myself from him (he insisted on walking away with me so he could catch his train that was leaving in....an hour?) I walked past the waiter as he gave me a little chuckle and an understanding look that said "I am so sorry you had to put up with him."

Edit: I forgot to mention (perhaps I've repressed it already) his multiple attempts to lean over the table and plant a big smooch on my lips. I successfully avoided such come-ons by violently turning my head the other way and explaining in the simplest English I could muster that "I am very happy with my husband and do not kiss other men." In hindsight, the whole ordeal was both one of the most humiliating and comical times in my life.


  1. Yikes! I'm glad you survived that ordeal. In Spain we called those guys "viejo verdes" or green old men (green meaning randy/dirty/obnoxiously flirty). I do not envy your ability to attract them; hope it wears off!


  2. That's horrible! But also really funny in a glad-it-wasn't-me hindsight sort of way. I guess you need to learn how to avow your love of husband in French. Who would think that would be the most important thing you could learn in another language? Haha.