The Old Man And I

Do you need a laugh? Maybe a little creep-out?

I had a nervous uncomfortbale laugh and then immediately washed my hand five times.

This evening I stayed again at the hotel instead of going out, which meant I was dining alone.

My Waiter (I really should get his name), gave me the option of sitting in a back corner tonight, thank you! As it is getting close to the end of my trip I decided I might as well go all out and try 3 of the 5 courses available on almost every Italian menu. How does anyone stay thin? I ordered an Appetizer, First Course and Dessert with a coffee.

I managed through the Appetizer and the First Course when two older gentlemen entered the dinning room and sat at the table beside mine. They were sharing a news paper and seemed to be discussing it’s contents.

My Dessert arrived and as I finished up reading an email, noticed out of the corner of my eye one of the old men getting up from his seat and making his way towards me.

He arrived at my table and asked “Are you Italian”, in what seemed like Italian. I shook my head no. That pleased him and he continued by listing off a bunch of languages I might possibly speak, “French, English etc.”. I stopped him and responded “English and some French.”

Ahhhh, and he reached down for my hand, picked my left hand off the table. His the palm of his old hand was fleshy, soft and warm, the top of his hand was veined, hairy and rough. He raised our hands together and kissed the back of my hand and I pulled my hand back.

He pointed to my waiting dessert and asked in French, “Is it good?”

“I Haven’t tried yet,” and I took my spoon and a small bite and gave him the thumbs up. He was pleased and asked me to point out which dessert it was on his Italian language menu.

Before he left my table he took my hand a second time, held it slighly longer than the first, kissed it again, looked into my eyes to said Ciao.  

I looked away. Uncomfortable.

I am slightly frazzled, but I have this and I focused on my dessert and my coffee.

The wait staff dropped off a dish of complimentary biscuits on my table. I ignore the biscuits, how do they do this? Pre-appetizer rolls, sliced dried baguette, three course meal AND Biscuits! 

The old man noticed and again got up from his table. He asked if I minded if he had my biscuits. He didn’t try to take my hand, I didn’t look at him and I gestured “Go ahead”.

I am completely involved in my email, but I noticed movement to my left and I took a little sideways peak over. He was sitting, staring at me, jiggling his legs giving me the impression was waiting for an opening, a reason to pop back over to my table. I went back to my email and focused, focused on not looking up. I felt trapped. I desperately wanted to leave the room but I feared he’d follow me, so it became a little game of whom can out-sit whom!

He managed to stand up. He waited. I did not look up but I could sense the movement as he made his way back to my table. I cringed. He leaned in much closer than before and in his broken French he asked me, “Do you want to have breakfast with me tomorrow.”

I wished desperately for my invisibility cloak.

I shook my head no and said, “That will not work for me.”

He is not detterred and repeats in earnest his question, “Will yo have beakfast with me tomorrow.”

I shook my head no, more vigorously than before.

He is an old man, he’s been told no many times, he isn’t going to give up and he tried a new route, “Give me your hotel room number and I will call you.”

MY HOTEL ROOM NUMBER AND HE WILL CALL ME! I wanted to die.

This time I left out the shaking of my head and the verbal no’s and I pulled out my arm gesture that I’ve picked up while being in Italy. The arm gesture that gets in your face and is the ultimate go the F*ck away. I had tried the nice Canadian approach and it clearly did not work.

I pulled my right arm up from my lap and I shook it firmly from side to side in front of his bent over nose.

He knows I am not Italian and doesn’t believe my agressive arm gesture and he simply said, “What time are you planning to have breakfast.”

I ignored him. I was out of material and he shrugged and left the dinning room.

I am ready to come home thanks.

OMG

It has been awhile since my last post. I have written but not published and I am not sure why.

However I must share this.

I think it may be time for a car…

“Hey miss, miss”

I look across the street to a little old man waving madly at me.

“Miss, hello, that was me.” He pants excitedly, “That was me as you were walking right up the stairs.”. He can hardly catch his breath even though he just got out of his 4-door blue Honda Civic.

I ignore him.

“You were walking up the stairs,” he repeats.

I nod and glare at him. I was aware of the honk. If he had of looked closely my right leg had momentarily stopped mid-step when he honked his car horn. I had done my best to not show my surprise at the mad honking and kept walking up the stairs without turning around.

Now he was across the street out of his car talking a mile a minute with his European accent.

I continued walking as he yelled “Have a nice day miss.”

For sure I will…….

I heard him get in his car and drive slowly up behind me.

His window rolled down. I am thanking my lucky stars for my martial arts – at least I may stand a chance.

“Miss, miss, that was me honking as you walked up the stairs, it was MEEE!”

Yes I got it the first time as I forced a sneering smile – stop that car again buddy and you’ll be damn sorry.

He sees me dialing my friend as he drives away, yelling out his window.

“Miss I am not following you, I swear, I just honked at you. that was me honking.”

I get it – bugger off before I hurt you.

Time for a can of mace, a hand gun permit, a car or all three?