We all know I attract weirdos of all flavors. This one incident takes us back to my Senior year in high school in the days where I drove around town in my big blue Yukon. My vehicle became an instant icon and a one-of-a-kind truck in my hometown. If you saw a Blue Yukon, you just saw Valerie drive by. It was easy for anyone to know where I was going or had been for the day because of this. Note, this detail will come into play…
At this particular time, there was a boy who had expressed interest, first, in me and I kindly rejected him. After that, he tried for my little sister who led him on, thinking she could get things from him. That dream died quickly for them both. Regardless of the rejections, he kept coming back, calling, bicycling 5 miles to show up at my house at seven in the morning where I was not happy about this at all, it being Saturday and I had the day off for once.
Unlike my peers, I had zero interest in dating and boyfriends. My focus was to work hard, in school and at my job, in order to prepare for college. I wanted to move the hell out as soon as I could, so I had no time to waste on high school love drama that would most likely be a temporary endeavor at the end of all this teen hormone driven time in my life. And yes, I thought this sourly about such things, which may explain SO much. There were only a few times I found myself crushing over someone. So few, that I can count them all on one hand from Kindergarten through to graduation.
I don’t think he meant any harm, he was a love sick high school boy in my eyes. As this relentless game of chasing after my affection continued, I shifted from feeling pity to flat out anger. How many times can I, and do I, have to tell him NO?
It had been a solid two weeks since his last attempt and I was starting to relax again. There are no words to express how exhausting it is to have to think of new ways of saying “I’m not interested” and “Leave me alone” can make someone. Pay day was here, and I was eager to pick up my check and head to the bank. I pull through the drive thru bank teller, put my deposit in the tube and – schoop! – to the teller.
I glance at my side mirror and do a double take. Paling, I looked to the rear view mirror for confirmation. There he was on his bike behind my truck! Glaring back to the side mirror again, I could feel the heat in my face as my temper escaped me. Yes, this is the one of the few times I experience the thing we call blind rage.
We made eye contact through my mirror. He lift up his sun glasses and raises his eyebrows in two bumps, as if a silent facial sign language for Hey, Girl, aren’t I sexy?
Before I realized what I was doing, my foot was pressing down on the brake, my hand on the shifter.
I was in reverse, my foot pulling away from the brake pedal, I scowled at him. If he hadn’t gotten that I was done with him, completely utterly tired of this shit, he was going to know it. He paled, the large blue Yukon rolling in his direction. I could see his face focus on the little icon of a silhouetted bull pooping with a red “no” insignia on top insinuating no bullshit.
His front bike wheel was officially no longer round.
I pulled forward, back in place. Hanging my window, I peered back, his face mottled with fear and anger.
“I don’t ever want to see or hear from you again. This is ridiculous. Stop stalking me.”
I grabbed my deposit slip, waved a good bye, and never heard from him again.
In all honestly, I could have handled that whole ordeal much better, but after relentlessly being pursued – I simply lost it to have him as daring as to bicycle up behind me at the bank of all places.