The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Mark, the New Stalker written @ 1:49 PM on December 19, 2002 I think I have another stalker. I would have mentioned this in previous entries if it weren't for my zeal when it came to other matters, but here's the latest story. Last Wednesday on my first day of work, I was sitting in the food court of the mall filling out addresses on flyers as part of a mailing list Deborah, my boss, had going. Suddenly, I felt a shadow fall over me, and I looked up and there's this man, about my height, maybe shorter, with dirty blonde hair, large glasses, and discolored teeth. He smiled at me and asked if I was making out Christmas cards. I said no, I was working. He went on to ask me other questions of no large matter, and introduced himself as Mark. Just to be polite and feeling a bit uncomfortable, I just said my name was Sam. "Am I bothering you, Sam?" he asked with that unnerving discolored smile of his. In all truth, he was, but because I'm too fucking nice, I said no. He left not too long after this, however. The next time I saw him, it was Sunday. It was extremely busy in the mall that day, and I was preoccupied cleaning a wooden horse Deborah wanted to place at the front of the store. All of a sudden, my eye caught a short figure slipping into the store and right beside me. "Hi-- Sam, was it?-- remember me?" Yes, it was Mark. I politely smiled at him. It was then that I wondered if he was just a customer who liked to walk around the mall a lot, or if he had some sort of job there. I should ask him. "Am I bothering you?" "No, but I am a little busy..." Right, like that statement made any sense whatsoever. I think he must have seen Deborah, and I think she must have observed him, because then he immediately left the store. I saw Mark a third time on Monday. This time the store was pretty empty. My co-worker, Jessica, was in the back organizing stock, and I was alone for the most part in the store fiddling with things behind the cash register. In came Mark, slipping in like a piece of melted ice on a picnic table, and he smiled that same horrible smile that I have come to loathe. "Hi, Sam! How are you?" "Fine," I answered with clenched teeth. "Are you busy?" "Um... a little." Then he went on to ask me what I did for fun, particularly if I liked dance clubs downtown. "No," I answered sternly. "Oh no?" He seemed disappointed but was trying to conceal it. "Why?" "Because I like cafes, art museums, bookstores--" I started naming off every place I could think of which a typical prowling male would find boring. In other words, I tried to appear like one of those highly intellectual girls that lack personality and a sense of humor. "Oh yes," said Mark, "I don't really like dance clubs myself. They play the music too loud in there; you can't even hear yourself talk to someone." I nodded, but the whole time I was thinking, Good God, he does like dance clubs, he just changed his answer to make us seem more compatible and to get me to go out with him, the creep! "I really like the art museum myself," he continued. "But I haven't been there in five years." Whatever. A minute or two afterward, Deborah came into the store carrying stock, and with a curt good-bye, Mark slipped out of the store as fast as he came in, that child molesting weasle. The tip of the iceberg came last night, however. I was not at work this time; I was at home. My mom was preparing dinner, and I went downstairs to see what she was cooking. Then she said to me, "Sam, who do you know that has blondish hair, blue eyes, big glasses, and is kind of nerdy?" "Hmm." I began going through everyone I knew in high school who matched that description, but I couldn't think of anyone. "Why? Where did you see this guy?" "Nevermind where. Who do you know?" "I don't know. If you tell me where, I could probably figure it out. How did this person know you were my mom?" "He didn't know. Just tell me who." "Where did you see him?!" "Nevermind where." I suddenly got the idea that my mom was eluding to the concept that she was Christmas shopping, probably at Bali Accents at the mall, and it suddenly hit me who she was thinking about. But just to be sure, I asked, "How old was he?!" "I don't know. I didn't get a good look at him. Probably around your age." Bull shit, that guy is my age, I thought. "Did he have discolored teeth?!" "I don't know; I couldn't see." "You were at Bali Accents, weren't you?" By this time, she could see that I was somewhat distressed, and she asked me again who he was. "It's this guy Mark," I said. "I think he's stalking me." Then Mom spilled the story. "I was just leaving the store when I overheard him asking your boss if you were there today. How did he know your name?" Well, the proverbial shit hit the fan after I told the story of how I met him and his subsequent visits thereafter. Mom wasn't too happy at all, and neither was I quite frankly, but I think she may have overreacted just a little. "The next time he comes in, I want you to call security," she commanded. "You may have to get a restraining order. And carry your pepper spray when you go out into the parking lot." She was talking to me as if it were *my* fault! It is here that I'd just like to issue my plea to Heaven, "Why me? Why can't I find a nice boyfriend like the girls in my drawing class had? Why do all the creeps have to follow me?" I can tell Mark's type. Unfortunately, I fit his type. "I think you seem like a very nice person," he had said to me before he left the store the last time, that strange glint in his eye. I will fucking murder the bastard if he touches me. All those years of watching 20/20 will pay off, dammit. I go to work tonight, and if he's there, I'm going to be quite frank with him and tell him that he is distracting me from my work, that I am to be married tomorrow, and if he does not listen, I will call security. I wish I had more guy friends that are like watchdogs and would kick the shit out of anyone I wanted to get the shit kicked out of. However, Brad and Derek live in Tennessee. They'd probably drive all the way up to Ohio if I asked them, but then again, if I'm going to be living in New York one day, this is practice self-defense. No more Miss Nice Sam. If Mark comes in tonight, out comes Medusa.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
Latest Entry | Archives | Diaryland |
Profile | Diaryrings | |
Guestbook | E-mail Me | Leave a note |
Art Work (Coming Soon) | Genealogy (Coming Soon) | The-Last-Unicorn.net |