angelamaryclaire

So it all started when I accidentally made eye contact with this guy who I knew from college and then uni. He is one of those guys, you know, where eye contact is only ever made by accident and regretted immediately after.

He came over and started chatting despite me sitting basically with my back to him while I ate a pack of mixed sarnies from the overpriced cafe. I faffed about when they called our bus, so he would be ahead of me and wouldn’t take the seat next to mine. This amazing plan worked. I had 1.4 minutes of unadulterated, unmolested bliss before a head poked around the seat. Yes. He wanted to sit. I couldn’t think of a good enough reason that he couldn’t, so my amazing zebra backpack went on the floor and he sat.

I feigned sleep and feigned being woken up about 5 times while he asked me questions. Why are you so tired and why are you going to Devonport being a few of his well thought out attempts at conversations.

He then casually dropped a mention of mutual college friend. He then revealed this person had died. I was not aware of this. I did not require comforting but that’s what I got.

Then the leg rubbing started.

It was about this time I put in an emergency text to Lincoln that basically read “call me right now, you’re my pretend boyfriend”. I meant to add “don’t be scared” but I was in too much of a rush. Then I realised that the bus had travelled into that no-mans-land between Perth and Deloraine where I have no phone reception. Disaster.

The leg rubbing continued and started expanding it’s borders. I wasn’t just taking this by the way, I was actively picking up his hand and shoving it off me. It was misinterpreted as “playful”.

Then he asks me to move to the back of the bus. The makeout seats. I decline.

Then he asks if he can practice his Shakespeare on me. He whispered the first four lines of  the soliloquy from  Henry IV. I laugh and tell him it’s pointless because I don’t remember how it goes anyway so he could be making it up. He produces a print out copy from his pocket. I go quiet.

I resend my cry for help text to Linc. No love.

He wants to fall asleep on my shoulder. Aparently he cant do this without trying to touch my boobs. I tell him to get off. He doesn’t. I call Lincoln.

“Get my message?”

“Yes”

“just got reception back”

“I see”

“HELLO DARLING, I LOVE YOU ETC ETC”

“goodbye freakshow, call you later”

Has freakbusman picked up that I already have a (fake, but he doesnt know that) darling beloved boyfriend? No. Of course not.

He then embarks on what can only be described as INAPROPRIATE. “I’ve always liked you”. “I like your legs”. “These jeans are great”. “I’ve always been super polite to you and you always give me the brush off”.  interspersed with some touching. You get the idea.

“I have a boyfriend”

“Oh, I’ll stop hitting on you then”

And thats where the story ends. Or so you would think.

He doesn’t stop hitting on me until he (and anyone within earshot) know more about Linc than I wanted to tell. I was so confused I didn’t think to make up details.

Then all of a sudden he was shaking my hand, saying it was excellent to catch up and off down the front to harrass the driver with an inane conversation about squash.

This is pretty much all the inspiration I need to get my license and get a car. Stuff getting distracted by shiny things, other people can drive. I bet I could too.