Duffle Shuffle

It's me.

I know that now.

I alone attract the weirdos.

As usual, it was a pretty uneventful day.

That is until I went to grab some supper.

I went to the store to grab a Pepsi, and while waiting in line behind a 143 year old lady counting out coupons and pennies for her Depends, I noticed that there was a tall black man standing eerily close to me.

Carrying a large green duffle bag.

I thought nothing of it, that is, until said duffle bag man yells in my ear:

"What kind of music do you like just askin'."

There was no break in the sentence. No punctuation mark between the question about my taste in music and the statement that he was "just askin'."

I look at the cashier nervously, she almost imperceptibly shrugs, while stifling a giggle, and then turn slightly to duffle man.

He is looking directly into my eyes and being a close talker. He repeats the question.

I do not like close talkers, I back up. I feel awkward. So should you.

He comes closer and starts to open his bag. At this point, I've paid, I'm ready to go eat, and I'm slightly terrified.

Once his duffle is open, he is closer to me, and he begins to lift the flap of the bag. Inside, he tells me, are clocks. With posters of "my favorite" bands on them. Or, at least, someone's favorite bands.

He tells me they are selling for $30.00 a piece, and asks me if I want one.

I politely decline, and go for supper.

Random much?