Creepers

I'm in the middle of writing my autobiographical essay for class tomorrow. It's riveting, obv.

I am also on the lookout for "creepy old guys;" my supervisor at work just told me that she got an email this morning from Sheila with the subject "creepy old guy" . . . apparently there has been a man coming up to girls working at the circulation desk. What my supervisor doesn't know is that I am a) highly trained in dealing with creepy old men, and b) currently in a relationship with a creepy old man, as well.

Cue stories:

a) There is a homeless man who lives in Port Jefferson whom I've had several run-ins with; his name is Anthony, and he's tried to steal or wheedle his way into getting several things from the retail store I work at. When the cops didn't show up one night I was working alone, I had to deal with him myself as he harassed customers. So yeah.
b) My friends and I were at the Statesman one night to see some bands play; we were dancing and whatever when all of a sudden, this old guy taps my friend Jim on the shoulder, says something to him, and points in my directon. He then proceeds to shake my hand and walk away. When I asked Jim what he'd said, he told me that the guy was like, "She's my girlfriend!" And so began the scandalous romance.

On the topic of creeps, I love the word 'creeper' almost as much as the word 'tool.' Which is saying a LOT.

Note to self: "rabbit, rabbit" the first person in sight tomorrow morning.