I'm a bit angry at my community as a whole right now.
Yesterday I took delivery of a large amount of gardening supplies - bags of manure, woodchips, fertilisers, that sort of thing, for a large-scale overhaul of my garden that I began today. This morning I entered my front yard to find two old European men (I live in a suburb with a high density of elderly Europeans), who were happily clambering around near the woodchip pile. I had never met either of them before, but they had just taken the liberty to wander onto my property. When I came out, they hailed me as if I was a close friend and started demanding to know what I was going to do with all this stuff.
After politely but firmly seeing them off, I found that I had no large shovel, so took a trip down to the local garden centre to buy a few things. Walking back with my nice shiny new supplies, I was stopped about three blocks away from my house by another old man, whom I had also never met before.
He, too, greeted me as if I was a long-lost friend. Then wanted to know what I was doing carrying around a big shovel like that. I suppose I could have told him that needed a new shovel to bury my most recent murder victim, because my last good shovel broke while I was bashing their brains out. I totally should have done that. Instead, I nicely told him that I was doing some gardening. That's when he got weird.
He mumbled something that sounded like he was asking if I wanted to have sex. I dismissed that as unlikely and repeated that I was going home to do the gardening, and I'd better be on my way.
"When will you be home?" he asked.
"Oh, about five minutes. I don't live far away."
"Where you live?"
"Just down there a bit," and I waved my hand vaguely in the direction I was going. I wasn't going to tell the guy which house was mine.
"Can I come back to your place then?"
That made me uneasy. I decided to pretend to be obtuse. "No thanks, I don't need any help, I should be able to do this on my own," and waved the shovel at him.
"How much cost?"
"What, the shovel?" I asked.
"For sex. How much cost for sex?"
This time there was no mistaking what I'd heard. I stopped being polite, told him where to go, and left. I still can't believe I was asked if I could be paid for sex, by a seventy-plus-year-old man, while just walking down my street. I was wearing dirty work clothes and carrying a fucking shovel. If I looked like a fucking prostitute, I must have been catering for some pretty specific fetishes.
This isn't the first time I've been approached inappropriately by elderly men in my suburb - a shop owner plied me with a sad story about his dead wife before asking me to marry him, my neighbour's friend has tried several times to persuade me to go to his place for reasons I don't want to think about, and my own neighbour has tried to grab me on the breast. But this is just beyond a joke, I'm getting completely sick of it. I don't understand how they can possibly think this is appropriate behaviour. And why are there so MANY of them?
Yesterday I took delivery of a large amount of gardening supplies - bags of manure, woodchips, fertilisers, that sort of thing, for a large-scale overhaul of my garden that I began today. This morning I entered my front yard to find two old European men (I live in a suburb with a high density of elderly Europeans), who were happily clambering around near the woodchip pile. I had never met either of them before, but they had just taken the liberty to wander onto my property. When I came out, they hailed me as if I was a close friend and started demanding to know what I was going to do with all this stuff.
After politely but firmly seeing them off, I found that I had no large shovel, so took a trip down to the local garden centre to buy a few things. Walking back with my nice shiny new supplies, I was stopped about three blocks away from my house by another old man, whom I had also never met before.
He, too, greeted me as if I was a long-lost friend. Then wanted to know what I was doing carrying around a big shovel like that. I suppose I could have told him that needed a new shovel to bury my most recent murder victim, because my last good shovel broke while I was bashing their brains out. I totally should have done that. Instead, I nicely told him that I was doing some gardening. That's when he got weird.
He mumbled something that sounded like he was asking if I wanted to have sex. I dismissed that as unlikely and repeated that I was going home to do the gardening, and I'd better be on my way.
"When will you be home?" he asked.
"Oh, about five minutes. I don't live far away."
"Where you live?"
"Just down there a bit," and I waved my hand vaguely in the direction I was going. I wasn't going to tell the guy which house was mine.
"Can I come back to your place then?"
That made me uneasy. I decided to pretend to be obtuse. "No thanks, I don't need any help, I should be able to do this on my own," and waved the shovel at him.
"How much cost?"
"What, the shovel?" I asked.
"For sex. How much cost for sex?"
This time there was no mistaking what I'd heard. I stopped being polite, told him where to go, and left. I still can't believe I was asked if I could be paid for sex, by a seventy-plus-year-old man, while just walking down my street. I was wearing dirty work clothes and carrying a fucking shovel. If I looked like a fucking prostitute, I must have been catering for some pretty specific fetishes.
This isn't the first time I've been approached inappropriately by elderly men in my suburb - a shop owner plied me with a sad story about his dead wife before asking me to marry him, my neighbour's friend has tried several times to persuade me to go to his place for reasons I don't want to think about, and my own neighbour has tried to grab me on the breast. But this is just beyond a joke, I'm getting completely sick of it. I don't understand how they can possibly think this is appropriate behaviour. And why are there so MANY of them?
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
fullmoonkisses:
Now that is odd and fucked up! Maybe there IS some bizarre fetish catering prostitute in the area?. Glad you told him where to go and didn't get too upset by the dirty old bastard
lowroller:
Yep. Staying home at nights going stir crazy. That's how I roll (as the kids say) 