Noble Maloof, My Stalker: Part Deux
I admit I was slightly relieved when Noble Maloof actually waved at me timidly on the bus this morning. I was sure he didn’t like me after he gave me the cold shoulder a few days ago. Turns out, he either changed his mind or he was never mad at me in the first place.
This morning he chased me off the bus… again. I was walking briskly (as I always do) to the city building with big glass doors, when suddenly I heard the pitter-patter of little feet. I thought to myself, tell me that’s not Noble Maloof running up the pavement after me, when – too late – the reflection in the glass doors confirmed my suspicions. Noble Maloof was indeed chasing me down. I needn’t tell you how ridiculous I felt being tagged around town by a panting, puffing old man in a cabby hat. "Sarah!” he managed to say between gasps as he caught up with me. "Oh, hello,” I said, trying to act surprised. "I brought you some French jam!” he said.
Now, seriously people, when Noble Maloof envisioned this conversation earlier this morning, do you think he blurted out the words, “I brought you French jam!”? I really doubt it. I also doubt he envisioned himself bent over double, trying to catch his breath as he said it. But at least he didn't make me wait around. He got right to the heart of his mission. No dilly-dallying.
He fished around inside his little bedraggled green bag and produced a jar of French strawberry jam carefully wrapped in a sandwich bag. “Oh, how sweet!” I said. Which was kind of an obvious thing to say about jam, but well, I was a little shocked to be honest and I was also thinking about how happy you all would be about this little turn of events. So I just smiled and thanked him. Then came the kicker: "If you want more… call me and I’ll get you some.” He smiled faintly and slapped my shoulder and said, “Cheerio!”
Where did he come up with this scheme? Who said that was a good idea? Do you know how long it will take me to eat an entire jar of French jam? Months, years, decades. I won’t be calling Maloof for more jam anytime soon. Seriously people, is there a book out there for old men on how to attract younger women entitled, “What To Get The Girl Who Doesn’t Want Anything … from you”? It probably would say something like, “First acknowledge the girl loudly on public transportation. Make sure to get her name (even a false one) at any cost! Next follow her into a building and question her about the name and give her your number. If this fails to produce a phone call, give her the cold shoulder while you think up another strategy. Next, give her something sweet to eat. Preferably candy, or chocolates or tea biscuits (Jam’ll do in a pinch). Then sit back and wait for her phone call...”
Good grief.
The proffered jar of jam.
This morning he chased me off the bus… again. I was walking briskly (as I always do) to the city building with big glass doors, when suddenly I heard the pitter-patter of little feet. I thought to myself, tell me that’s not Noble Maloof running up the pavement after me, when – too late – the reflection in the glass doors confirmed my suspicions. Noble Maloof was indeed chasing me down. I needn’t tell you how ridiculous I felt being tagged around town by a panting, puffing old man in a cabby hat. "Sarah!” he managed to say between gasps as he caught up with me. "Oh, hello,” I said, trying to act surprised. "I brought you some French jam!” he said.
Now, seriously people, when Noble Maloof envisioned this conversation earlier this morning, do you think he blurted out the words, “I brought you French jam!”? I really doubt it. I also doubt he envisioned himself bent over double, trying to catch his breath as he said it. But at least he didn't make me wait around. He got right to the heart of his mission. No dilly-dallying.
He fished around inside his little bedraggled green bag and produced a jar of French strawberry jam carefully wrapped in a sandwich bag. “Oh, how sweet!” I said. Which was kind of an obvious thing to say about jam, but well, I was a little shocked to be honest and I was also thinking about how happy you all would be about this little turn of events. So I just smiled and thanked him. Then came the kicker: "If you want more… call me and I’ll get you some.” He smiled faintly and slapped my shoulder and said, “Cheerio!”
Where did he come up with this scheme? Who said that was a good idea? Do you know how long it will take me to eat an entire jar of French jam? Months, years, decades. I won’t be calling Maloof for more jam anytime soon. Seriously people, is there a book out there for old men on how to attract younger women entitled, “What To Get The Girl Who Doesn’t Want Anything … from you”? It probably would say something like, “First acknowledge the girl loudly on public transportation. Make sure to get her name (even a false one) at any cost! Next follow her into a building and question her about the name and give her your number. If this fails to produce a phone call, give her the cold shoulder while you think up another strategy. Next, give her something sweet to eat. Preferably candy, or chocolates or tea biscuits (Jam’ll do in a pinch). Then sit back and wait for her phone call...”
Good grief.
The proffered jar of jam.
posted by k_sra at 8/27/2004 08:11:00 AM
3 Comments:
You were right. I enjoyed the story and am happy by the turn of events. You should call him today, say you've eaten it all, and could he please start bringing you a jar every day. Or you should buy him a can of spam, or something equally terrible. Clamato.
Ok, or don't take any of that advice. Though I'm still waiting for the painting picture.
Sweets for the sweet; I'll bet there's an engagement ring in there.
I, too, am delighted to hear that you are being hounded by a Noble. Although I must admit that I can't really hope to believe that he is as winded and huff puff as you write him up to be. That would be simply too delicious for reality. Now, I'm going to have to stalk the stalker to observe his actions; this could get very complicated.
I'm scared. I don't want to. You want it?
Post a Comment
<< Home