Today, I was asked out by a 40-plus year old man. This is something I can typically field with ease, a simple "No", sufficient to drown any hopes he had of wining and dining me. But this particular experience came so far out of left field that I almost laughed in his face. The scenario began when he asked for assistance in locating some titles. Sure, that's my job. I looked up a business title for him first. Great, we had it. The next request caught me off guard. Perhaps it was the title "Box Lunch", or the fact that he subsequently followed that with a nonchalant, "Ees'a ses book." Oh, okay. Box Lunch (for those who are curious). I walk the section, pick out the book, and hand it to him. He seemed oddly interested in making eye contact while asking for my name, and so I smiled a wry smile, gave him my name whilst holding up my name tag, and exited. Fast-forward 20 minutes and a few customers later, as I am headed to the cash register, I saw him approaching quickly from my left. I turned to acknowledge him and he asked again, "What ees your name again?" Uneasily, I reply.
Manuel (An invented name. Creative, I know.) then asked, "How old are you?"
"Excuse me?" I questioned.
Again. "How old are you?"
"I'll be 25 this year," I confirmed, my eyebrows furrowing in feigned confusion.
"I woo'like to take you to dinner," he finalized.
I pressed my lips together tightly, a vain attempt at transforming my mocking smile into an enchantingly apologetic one. "I'm sorry, but I have a boyfriend."
Seemingly unfazed by this he says, "Ah. I weel see you again." Gee, I hope not.
It is almost a shame I cannot accept tips for customer service. I am almost certain I would be putting money in the bank. At my last store, it was common weekly occurance to be hit on by a young to middle-aged male while engaged in business-related conversation. However, given the relaxed, business-casual setting of a bookstore/cafe, and the verbose abandon with which I speak, my male customers confused my sales tactics with actual attraction.
You may not believe me, but truthfully, when I began my work as a bookseller, I had no desire to flirt with and garner attention from my male customers. I sincerely loved books, and adored managing my own little nook in the store. I could talk about traveling and languages and wear cute heels to work, a large step up from my tomboyish hardware store days. You may be able to imagine my trepidation the first time I was asked out for coffee after engaging a customer in conversation about something entirely unrelated. Granted, I did have a boyfriend at the time, but I was unused to being sought out by unfamilar men. I was much more accustomed to joking around with my hardware store boys and being on the same side of the fence. I felt a slight thrill at this sudden shove into womanhood, but also a degree of frustration. "What is this?" I thought. "I just want to do my job, and here I am getting coffee date offers?"
Despite my efforts to keep things all business, the onslaught of suitors did not let up. I have been solicited for hugs, asked out for coffee, heckled by a homeless guy, and shamelessly ogled. As time wore on, I grew more comfortable with my body and the way I looked to men. Part of this had to do with my growth in relationships and my own self-acceptance. I was only frustrating myself by fighting what was clearly out of my control. Men found me attractive, and that was that. Unable to be genuinely caustic toward anyone, I continued to field their advances and let them roll off my back whilst still marveling at how I could suddenly be so desirable. Even my male co-workers would drop their own tasks if it meant assisting me with mine. The girls in café used to tease me, darkly curious as to why I had "so many boys in my section" all the time.
Less than a year after my first run with B&N, I left to travel abroad on a whim, only to return 4 months later slightly heartbroken, but with a new perspective that would change much of how I saw myself. For 6 months after my trip, I lived on my mom's couch, saving money to begin again. I was quickly rehired at B&N, this time in the café. As I look back on my café experience, I recall feeling a sexual charge that had never been their before. Do not misunderstand me, I have always enjoyed sex. However, this sexual energy was new and improved. It was not the familiar desire to be delicately wooed by a single lover, but had morphed into the desire to chase something seemingly unattainable. Like a tigress hunting her prey, it became an art. I saw how men saw me and I challenged it, unflinchingly. I played favorites with certain male customers, disregarding my previous formal approach in favor of a more flirtatious tone. Leaning onto one leg while steaming milk became my "stance", and I consistently became the punch line for many loving jokes from my café ladies. I prepared their drinks from memory, and gushed about the "cute ones" once they'd gone. I played like this for several months while very seldomly agreeing to date at all.
It is now almost precisely two years from that time. In that time, I have successfully supported myself, tried my hardest at cultivating a new relationship, moved clear across the country wearing nothing but my heart on my shoulder, had that heart broken, and then revived it with my own two hands. That very sexual energy I previously mentioned pulled me from a long week in March of tear-stained sheets, reminding me that though I had every right to mourn, I had no reason to punish myself. What would I have gained by post-poning my life for the sake of crying over someone who did not want me anymore? A long road of pain and slow healing. As the shock of my decision gave way to a new reality, I spent that initial week in my empty new room, licking my wounds and cuddling Stitch. After that, all bets were off. Fuck you if you didn't want me. Fuck you if you did. For nearly 6 months I didn't settle on anyone or anything. I went on dates, accepted phone numbers, gave out my number, almost never called anyone back, had bad sex, and loved every minute of it. Why? Simply, because I could.
It was only as I was coming down from this incredible high that I met someone who would hold my attention. The emotional sedation I felt with so many other men this year was slowly thawed, giving way to, yet, a newer version of myself. To his credit, I did not make it easy for him to win me, but he nevertheless still had me enamored. Unwittingly, I attempted to call his bluff, digging my heels in at every turn, questioning his motives outright. "So, what makes you different from other guys?" I asked, sharpening my claws. I made off handed comments about my ever-increasing standards, and my interest in why men and women could not ever have strictly platonic relationships. He stayed steadfast and remains so. For this, I am forever grateful.
As I approach my 25th birthday, I am overcome by a sense of empowerment and happiness. This does not stop me from indulging my anxiety once in a while, but not in the ways I used to. The anxiety I now feel is a tool through which I try to accomplish something. I have much to be thankful for, but simply put, I love being alive.
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