Wouldn't Hurt You to be Friendly

At the post office, a man about eight inches taller than Devin stood so close behind her that when she adjusted her purse strap's position on her shoulder, she brushed his stomach with her elbow.

"Sorry," she blurted, pulling away.

Close Stander smiled down at her. "Not a problem."

A chill ran down her spine while a polite smile remained on her lips.

There were two at the gas station.

First, a middle aged man with a very wrinkled shirt approached her while she filled her tank. "Pumping your own gas, Little Lady?"

Why did they so frequently remind her she was short? "Yep," Devin replied politely.

Wrinkled Shirt clicked his tongue and shook his head. "I never made my wife pump gas. Got to protect those delicate hands."

"Oh," Devin replied, very aware of the man's use of past tense. Her tank was only half full.

"How come you don't have a young man doing the dirty work for you?"

"I don't mind pumping my own gas," she said.

"A modern woman," Wrinkled Shirt remarked.

"Mm-hmm," Devin agreed.

"I'm old fashioned," Wrinkled Shirt said with a smile. "If I took you out, I'd arrive with a bouquet of flowers. Greet your parents respectfully. Open the door for you as you got into my car."

Devin knew this trap. If she said anything resembling disinterest, Wrinkled Shirt would clarify that he was only speaking hypothetically, and he would probably insult her for being vain. If she said anything that could be interpreted as encouragement, he might ask her for a date and then accuse her of leading him on when she declined.

"That sure is old-fashioned," Devin said.

"Some women prefer traditional men," Wrinkled Shirt said.

The gas pump clunked its finish and relief coursed through Devin's core. "Funny how different people can like different things," Devin said. She put the gas pump away, closed her gas cap and shut its door. "Have a nice day!"

She walked quickly into the gas station and took her time pouring and sweetening her coffee. She wanted to make sure Wrinkled Shirt was gone before she went back to her car.

The second one suddenly appeared behind her at the self-service coffee station. He had a dark beard and light hazel eyes. "Hey, Mama," he murmured. "You like it hot and sweet?"

Devin's whole body tensed. "Nothing like a cup of coffee," she said.

Hazel Eyes laughed. "I like it sweet too."

Devin nodded with a vague smile and walked to the counter to pay for her coffee.

Hazel Eyes followed Devin to her car and leaned against the door so she couldn't open it. "What's your number, Mama? I think we could really get along."

Devin pitched her voice as politely as possible. "I'd rather not. Thanks, anyway."

"You're going to turn down the best lay of your life?" Hazel Eyes asked. He then explicitly described sex acts he "would" perform on her. He remained between Devin and the door of her car.

Devin managed to slip a few words in edgewise: "I'm not looking for a boyfriend. I just wanted a tank of gas and a cup of coffee."

"Boyfriend?" Hazel Eyes scowled. "Lady, you're full of yourself. I only date nines and tens. You should be flattered I was willing to give you a booty call."

"Yes, I'm an ugly, disagreeable hag and I'm not worth your time!" Devin snapped. "So will you get off of my car now?"

Hazel Eyes sauntered away, swearing about her and her inability to take a compliment.

Devin couldn't leave the gas station fast enough. When she parked at the grocery store, she took a moment to breathe deeply and un-clench her jaw. She put on her headphones--a large, comfortable pair in obvious pink--and started playing one of her favorite albums. Tension drained out of her shoulders. Devin collected her reusable shopping bags and made her way inside.

She pretended not to notice the look she received from the white-aproned man stacking apples in the produce section. At the moment, the only person she wanted to pay attention to was Mick Jagger.

Devin placed a salad mix in her basket, then considered the cartons of raspberries. When she reached for one, another person also went for it, so the backs of their hands touched. Devin recoiled.

"Sorry about that." This man had painstakingly sculpted muscles and a shaved head. He smiled with apparent chagrin.

"Go ahead," Devin said loudly over her music. She backed off. There was no doubt in her mind that the berry display was big enough for the two of them to reach for separate cartons and maintain personal space. She looked away and nodded her head to the beat, clearly listening to the song.

Muscles said something, possibly to Devin. She pretended not to notice. Then he tapped on her headphones, right over her ear. She startled and pulled the headphones down.

"Not very attentive to your surroundings, huh?" Muscles asked.

"I guess not," Devin replied.

"What are you listening to?"

"The Stones," she answered.

"You like the Rolling Stones?" Muscles asked.

She nodded.

Muscles jutted out his chin in playful confrontation. "Name three songs."

"I just want some raspberries," Devin told him.

"I was just making friendly conversation," Muscles barked. "There was no need to be rude about it."

"You touched my hand, you tapped my headphones, and you tried to gatekeep a band I like," Devin observed. "But I'm the rude one?"

"You aren't a real fan," Muscles insisted.

"You like the Rolling Stones? Name three chords in 'Wild Horses,'" Devin said.

"You're insane," Muscles said. He walked away.

Devin returned her headphones to her ears, selected her raspberries, and continued shopping.

She finished her list, but circled back around to the bakery section. It was a chocolate cake kind of afternoon. Devin chose an individually packaged slice of decadent Devil's Food with stripes of fudge on the frosting.

The white-aproned man from the produce section approached her. He pointed at the cake in her hand and said, "A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips."

Devin pulled her headphones down. "Excuse me?"

Apron repeated the proverb.

Devin stared at him.

"I work here in the produce section," Apron said. "I could help you pick out some healthy snacks."

Devin deliberately placed the slice of cake on top of her basket. She turned and walked towards the registers. She left her headphones around her neck and turned off the music. It hadn't worked, anyway.

She stood in line, idly gazing at the magazine headlines and waiting her turn. She heard a loud SNIFF. She turned, finding a man's face about three inches from hers. Sniffer bolted, running away so carelessly he knocked into a table and scattered cheese samples over the floor. He recovered from stumbling and left the building.

Devin looked around. People seemed to notice Sniffer running, but no one looked her way. They hadn't seen him smelling a total stranger.

Each item felt particularly heavy as Devin placed it on the conveyor belt. Intangible weight pressed down on her shoulders and chest. She wanted to curl up on her couch with that slice of cake and binge-watch something empowering.

Thank goodness, the cashier had a very feminine appearance. "How are you today?" she asked.

"Fine, thanks," Devin lied. "You?"

"Oh, you know how it is," the cashier said. "I caught my boyfriend cheating, my brother totaled my car, and now Robby called out so I have to work a double. Men suck."

"That's sexist!" a customer in line at the next register called over. He followed it up with, "Where is a manager?"

"Case in point," Devin told the cashier.

Devin lingered near the checkout line with her full shopping bags. She saw a woman in a suit approach the disgruntled customer. The latter launched into an explanation of the offensive sexist remarks he overheard Devin's cashier make.

Devin joined them where they stood and interrupted the man's story. "Excuse me," she said to the manager, "But I think there has been some confusion. I said 'men suck,' and I believe this gentleman thought the cashier said it." She turned to the man. "I'm sorry I've offended you. I've been having a rough day with total strangers disrespecting my personal space, demanding my attention, and literally harassing me."

"Hah!" the man said derisively. "No one would harass you. No one wants you that much."

Devin swore under her breath.

The manager looked at them each in turn. "Thanks for taking responsibility and apologizing," she told Devin.

"Sure thing," Devin said. "Have a good one."

"Lying shrew!" the other customer yelled at her.

Devin spun on her heel and sped to the door.

As she exited, she crossed paths with a man wearing aviator sunglasses on his way in. "Smile!" Aviators told her. She kept walking. He shouted after her, "Wouldn't hurt you to be friendly!"