Imitation May Be the Highest Form of Flattery, But I Think Stalking Is a Close Second

Tonight, I was shopping in K-mart when two of the ladies behind the checkout counters said something interesting.  They were talking back and forth about the fact that one of them had a stalker.

I, of course, had to get involved in their conversation.  Apparently, the lady who was checking me out has a stalker.  He continually stops by and asks the other employees about her.  Whether she is working.  What time she gets off.  Stuff like that. 

The other employee was letting my cashier know that the creeper was outside of the store and that she should get an escort to her car later when her shift ended.

How did she get the stalker?  How does that happen?  I worked at a grocery store for three years and no one ever stalked me. 

Sure there was one old lady who kept mistakenly calling me a man even though she was eye level with my blatantly obvious boobage.

But never have I been stalked.  I really want to know how that happens.

Well, as I was leaving, I couldn’t help but look around to see if I could spot the creeper.  And sure enough.  There he was.  I was tempted to go over and ask him why he felt the need to stalk the nice cashier from the store, but something stopped me.

Oh yeah.  I remember what stopped me—the fact that he’s a freaking psycho. 

He even looked the part—Creepy.  Skinny. Hasn’t seen sunlight for years.  Squinty eyes.  The Pervert Smile.  Etc…  You know what I’m talking about—he was that guy!

So after quickly power walking (practically sprinting) to my car, locking the doors, and speeding away, I’m left to wonder about the cashier.  I just hope she made it out okay because that guy rates at a 9.2 on your standard Rapist/Molester scale.