Allow me to apologize for being creepy…
I am not creepy. OK, maybe I am. I honestly don’t know. That is because “being creepy” is pretty subjective.
Is a person following you or is he just headed to the same place you are? Unless you are also a mind-reader (they walk among us), you probably won’t ever know — barring said stalker saying, “I’m following you! How am I doing?”
That said, I am perpetually worried that I am being perceived as creepy in situations where I am genuinely not trying to do anything creepy at all.
At the gym? I try not to look around. Situational awareness is great if you’re a security guard or Jason Bourne or something. But Greg Elwell will either zone out and listen to his music or watch whatever’s showing on the TV. Look around too much and you’re bound to meet eyes with someone and BOOM! Creepy.
“Does he/she think I’m staring at him/her? I’m already sweaty and gross and now he/she thinks I’m a stalker? Awesome.”
And, honestly, it’s hard NOT to stare at a he/she. I mean, if somebody has half a face that’s a man with a moustache and a tuxedo and the other half is a buxom blonde in a crimson cocktail dress, you can’t not look. And what the hell is he/she doing in the gym dressed like that? You can’t climb the StairMaster in those clothes!
At the grocery store, I am perpetually convinced that people think I’m going to steal their babies. And I cannot make this clear enough — I’m not even sure I want a baby that is half me, much less some strange baby being pushed around Crest.
So, you know, if you see me out and I appear to be creepy, please accept my regrets. I certainly don’t mean to be creepy; though now that I think of it, the hooded sweatshirt, sunglasses and ski mask (and the lack of pants) might be giving everybody the wrong impression.
Again…sorry.
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