I was in my senior year of college, working registers at the local ShopRite not far from my school’s campus. I hadn’t been at the job long, maybe two weeks, but I was starting to adjust to the foreign faces that passed through the aisles in the predominantly white town and the concept of standing stationary on my feet for hours on in. Well one day, while working my assigned shift, I experienced a situation that I’ll probably never forget. Looking cute with my hair pulled high in a wild curly bush and dressed in my regular ShopRite attire, I was busy ringing up customers when a middle-aged white man stepped into my aisle. He was an attractive man, tall in height with peppered hair and relaxed clothing. I had noticed him eyeing me before he reached the register, but didn’t pay him that much mind. Mr. Stare-me-down was accompanied by his daughter, whom, once they reached the register, he assigned to the end of the conveyor belt to do some bagging for him. I politely greeted him and treated him just as a regular shopper until I asked for his ShopRite card. Then, s**t got real. Once he realized he didn’t have his card, I asked him if he wanted to punch in his home number, and boy, did he steal that opportunity to unveil just how big of a scumbag he was. Instead of putting in the digits himself, he wanted me to do it so I could “Remember this number and give [him] a call.”Huh? I decided to ignore that comment and just typed in his digits so that I could ring him up and he could keep it moving. But he was persistent, so he continued by telling me to call him, but ring three times and hang up so that he would know it was me and his wife wouldn’t have time to answer the phone when I called. Really? He couldn’t have been serious. Thinking he was joking, I laughed it off, until he said it again—with a dead-serious, poker-straight face; obnoxiously chewing his gum and looking at me like he was the best thing smoking and I should’ve appreciated him showing me interest. Then I realized, he definitely was not playing. He was really an a**hole. As I totaled his groceries and gave him his receipt, he made sure he reaffirmed his gravity by telling me “I’ll be waiting on your call. Ring three times. That’s It.” And walking off with his hand cupped affectionately on his daughter’s shoulder like he was the coolest dad in the world. He really had some nerve. I shared my story with a few people and they all laughed. I have to admit that it was funny, but I was totally disgusted at the same time. It’s crazy to me because he actually thought he had it like that. That he could just walk in the grocery store, hit on the little black girl, give me his number, tell me to call and I would be falling at his feet. HILARIOUS! But really my man, you’re not only married and giving out your house number to women (not the cell number, but the HOUSE number–oh, the disrespect), but you tried to scoop me while in the presence of your child? Your daughter at that. Way to go, what a huge role model you are. I guess if his daughter grows up to have a pig for a husband, he’d feel no shame. Maybe he could give her groom a few pointers on how to handle his side chicks. Advise him to tell ‘em all to hit him up while he’s home with his daughter, but make sure they only ring three times. That’s it. ‘Cause that’s the best way to keep things on the low. And that’s just how you handle your business when you’re a married man. Sick.
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