"Look at me! I'm as straight as a one-dollar bill!"

--Homer Simpson

Strange times being older.

I think I was just hit on by a dude in the bookstore.

Whilst perusing the magazine section of Borders, I found a copy of "Cinefex" with General Grievous from "Star Wars: Episode III" on the cover. I sat down at a small table to flip through the special effects magazine and noticed two guys sitting at a table nearby. When I glanced over, the one who was facing me made eye contact.

I looked away, not really thinking anything of it, but then I thought "Oh wait, maybe I know that guy or something. But hey, you better not make any sudden moves," so I continued to flip through the pages, looking at partially completed FX shots for "Sin City" and "Constantine".

A few minutes later, I looked up to the guy.

And he's locked his eyes on mine again.

Okay, crap, I don't think I know the guy. But I play it cool, continue to read, and never look up from the magazine again.

After about ten or fifteen minutes maybe, I get up to put the magazine back on the shelf, but I did one of those got-up-too-fast-and-now-I'm-momentarilly-dizzy-and-disoriented feelings, and had to lean against the upper part of the magazine shelf to brace myself and keep from falling over in public, which could be quite disastrous.

While I'm leaning over the movies/photography/creative writing/art section, eyes closed, trying to get my bearings back, I hear a faint voice behind me:

"Any good photography magazines?"

I open my eyes and look around, unsure if the question was directed to me or not. I turn to the right and see that Guy again as he looks through the section. Oh crap, he's following me. His friend has already walked off another four feet, not realizing Guy, as I shall now call him, has stopped to chat or look through other mags. And then I realize he was talking to me.

But I'm still a bit off-balance and in the middle of recuperating and all I can muster is an impolite "What?", instead of the standard "I'm sorry?" or "what's that?".

"Any good photography magazines?" he asks again.

"Oh, uhh. I don't know. Haven't really looked."

Now, I'm not prepared to leave my favorite section of magazines, so I continue to look over the covers of "Creative Screenwriting" and "Premiere", which has a saucy photo of Jessica Simpson promoting "Dukes of Hazzard". Guy's friend walks back to us, and they start flipping through photography mags.

"I really like the black and white photos," he says, to either his friend of me, I don't know.

A few minutes pass by, and I think I'm in the clear, still playing it cool, but also trying not to make any sudden moves that will make the guy think I'm either interested in continuing a conversation, or that I'm scared of him and running away disgustedly. Because that would be rude. But still, I try to keep a minimum of three feet between us, using other people who walk by to look at the magazines as an excuse to step off to the side. Body language is key in instances like this.

"Thank God for this air conditioning."

I look up. "Oh, uh, yeah--"

"--It's brutally hot outside,"

"Yeah, uh, sure is," I say.

Okay, I think he's officially hitting on me now, making pointless small-talk even I probably couldn't bring myself to begin if some attractive young lady were in my place and I were in his. I bury my head back into the pages of the magazine.

He continues a moment later: "You see Batman yet?"

"Oh?"

He's pointing to a magazine cover with Bale's Batman on it. "See it?"

"Oh, uh yeah. Seen it twice. It's good stuff."

"So it's good? Oh, well, you've seen it twice, I suppose so. I should go see it."

At this point, for a split second, I'm wondering if he's gonna come out of left field and half-jokingly suggest we go see it together.

"I'm really looking forward to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory anyway," he says instead, and then he walks past me to another section.

"Oh yeah, that should end up being really good," I say in return as I unfold a pinup/centerfold style photo of Jessica Simpson from the "Premiere" and admire her curvaceous good looks.

Guy and his friend casually move off to check out more magazines. I wonder if he was pretending to be interested in photography, or if he was just waiting around and wasting time, trying to figure me out by throwing out baited bits of conversation in the hopes that I'd bite.

Sorry dude, you're not reeling me in.

Either way, I move off to other parts of the bookstore and just act normal. Success. I don't see Guy again.

That is, until twenty minutes later, when I exit the building and see he and his friend standing off to the side. At this point I change direction and march off in the opposite way, pulling out my keys and cell phone and then pretend to listen to some old voicemail.

Whoo. I'm in the car. I'm in the clear.

Still, that's a first for me. Unless you count that really weird, androgynously voiced phone call I received in tenth grade in which said boy-or-girl voice asked "I have a friend and he wants to know if you're interested?"

I'm sorry, did you say "he"?

*Click*.

Damn these devilish good looks. I guess I don't look like I'm sixteen anymore.

So that's a plus.

--Cbake