So last weekend I was low on food and energy. After putting in about 12-14 hours at school each day, let's face it, one does not feel much like cooking. So I thought I'd order a pizza. The delivery boy showed up around 7:00 p.m. and called my cell phone, which is normal because I live in a secured building and you can't get in without a key. I came down to the lobby feeling rather hungry, looking rather tired...you know the drill. No make-up, pjs on, hair pulled up in a sloppy bun - and not cute and messy - I'm so worn out I really don't care what you think I look like sloppy.
I'm getting my receipt and pizza when the delivery boy asks me out of the blue if I speak French. I say, "Un petit peu...un trop petit peu. Mais mon francais c'est trop mal." (Translation - a little bit...a very little bit but my French is very bad - and sorry to all you Frenchies out there if I didn't spell that right.) He was from an African country that I cannot pronounce (or remember, for that matter). He proceeded to ask me what I do. I told him I was a law student. All I could think was that I really wanted my pizza, so I could go back to cleaning my apartment. (Yes, that is what I was doing folks, cleaning my apartment on a Saturday night. But it hadn't been cleaned it weeks because I hadn't had the time.)
And then much to my delight it happened. The sixteen year old delivery boy asked me when he would see me again.
"Well," I said, a tiny bit shocked, "um, maybe I'll order another pizza sometime." I laughed and tried to make a joke out of it as I reached for the door. What can I say? I went into escape mode. But apparently we weren't finished with our little conversation.
"No," he said, rather insistently, "I'm serious. When can I see you again."
"Listen, I don't give my number out to strangers." (Note - I'm well aware that he had it...after all, he did just call me to come down for the pizza)
He got a bit indignant. "What does that mean?"
All I could think is that it means what it means. It means you can't call me. "So Newark isn't the safest place," I tried to say as nicely as I could. "So I don't give my number to strangers here."
"I don't get American girls. I don't understand what that means. If you don't want to, just say no."
"Okay, so no," I said, and I walked back through the door. What I wanted to say was, "Look, junior, when I need a date with a minor so that I can go to jail, I'll be the first to call you." Or, "Why don't we call my husband down to see what he thinks." Yes, friends, being single is funny!
