Lucky me. I'm female. And though usually I'm happy about that fact, when faced with the creeper douchebag, I regret my gender.
The creeper douchebag is usually aged 25 and older, flirts with every woman he encounters, and focuses on (much) younger women. The creeper in question here is 31. I'm 22. He's been hitting on me for over 6 months now. He works at the local convenience store which I frequent due to its proximity to my house and my crippling caffeine addiction. I used to venture into said store several times a week. Now, it's about once every two weeks.
The truly frightening side of creepers is their chameleon-esque ability to appear sweet and charming to everyone they encounter. It's not so effective here as 90% of people in this town are Italian, so the convenience store creeper (sounds like a nickname for a serial killer) is a greasy, pervy, immature Italian. No offence to Italians, but Italian creepers are actually creepier than any other kind.
Anyway, the latest creepy actions from this creeper occurred last week while buying giant bottles of Diet Pepsi. As I was looking through the fridge-compartment containing the beverages I intended to buy, Mr. Creeper came up behind me (that's dirty), stood there 'til I turned around, then hugged me while stroking my hair.
Thanks, creepy douchebag. Now I have to go to the next closest convenience store, an extra 10 minutes away. (Not actually a big deal, but I did burn those clothes and run home to shower. In reverse order. That could have been awkward.)
P.S. 31 and still working at a convenience store? Now that's a real winner.
The creeper douchebag is usually aged 25 and older, flirts with every woman he encounters, and focuses on (much) younger women. The creeper in question here is 31. I'm 22. He's been hitting on me for over 6 months now. He works at the local convenience store which I frequent due to its proximity to my house and my crippling caffeine addiction. I used to venture into said store several times a week. Now, it's about once every two weeks.
The truly frightening side of creepers is their chameleon-esque ability to appear sweet and charming to everyone they encounter. It's not so effective here as 90% of people in this town are Italian, so the convenience store creeper (sounds like a nickname for a serial killer) is a greasy, pervy, immature Italian. No offence to Italians, but Italian creepers are actually creepier than any other kind.
Anyway, the latest creepy actions from this creeper occurred last week while buying giant bottles of Diet Pepsi. As I was looking through the fridge-compartment containing the beverages I intended to buy, Mr. Creeper came up behind me (that's dirty), stood there 'til I turned around, then hugged me while stroking my hair.
Thanks, creepy douchebag. Now I have to go to the next closest convenience store, an extra 10 minutes away. (Not actually a big deal, but I did burn those clothes and run home to shower. In reverse order. That could have been awkward.)
P.S. 31 and still working at a convenience store? Now that's a real winner.
He hugged you and stroked your hair? Ok, now I get it. YOu forgot to mention that part to me. Creeper.
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