Flashback: 1996

My first summer back home after being away at college, I was desperate to find a job. The Tomato, who has always been the best networker around, hooked me up with a gig at The Wherehouse. Where? The Wherehouse. Yes, the music store.

I worked with a bunch of younger, rowdy, immature types except for the creepy guy who worked the stock room and would stare at me whenever I went back there. Stare as in ogle. To make matters worse, that same fella was also one of my friend's housemates. I just could not escape him.

But this story is not about him. . .I was working in Los Gatos, a ritzier part of Silicon Valley. One day an older gentleman came into the store. Dressed in slacks, a button down shirt, a hat and a cane, he was what you might call "dapper." Turns out, he was incredibly wealthy and a regular at the store. He would throw down a couple hundred dollars on cds- mostly classical- every time he came in. The old timers at the store would fight over who would get to help him because he was notorious for leaving a big tip. After seeing him in the store a couple of times, he asked for my assistance with retrieving a cd. I was pleasant and poored on the customer service charm, rang him up and refused his $20 tip kindly.

I know, hello!, what was I thinking. I had morals then. I was young.

Upon return visits to the store, I was informed that he would ask for me. My manager, a young, idiotic boy, informed me that he also inquired if I would like to watch a video with him. When he asked him that question, they were standing in the porn section. Yes, P-o-r-n-o-g-r-a-p-h-y. Um, no, I did not want to watch porn with him. He's was kind enough old gent but he was Old as in walking with a cane, white hair, drooling.

Did you catch that? Drooling. He'd use his handkerchief to dab the drips away. I am not kidding.

He came into the store on what would be our last day seeing one another. He approached me at the register and asked if he could play me a tape. I hesitated and looked at my co-workers for some sort of escape plan. They tried not to laugh at my predicament but didn't do anything to help me. I gave in and walked him to the storeroom where, upon entering, everyone promptly left. Great! Thanks co-workers!

Maurice, AKA Dapper Drooly Man, had made me a cassette tape. This 80-something year old man had sat down to make me a tape like many a high school boyfriend had. I put the cassette in the boom box and hit play. His voice suddenly filled the room, saying, "Hello Sizzle. This is Maurice. I have made this tape especially for you. I would like to play a particular song that I wrote called, "Song for Sizzle." I hope you like it and will consider what we have talked about." What we have talked about? Uh oh, I thought, filled with trepedation for what was to follow.

We stood there in the storeroom, he leaning on his cane, me attempting to look touched and pleased by his display of attention while secretly hoping someone, anyone, even creepy storeroom guy, would walk through the door and save me. The song, a classical piano concerta of sorts, was sweet even if it felt like eternity as I stood there listening, apprehensive as to what would happen next. When the song ended, I hit stop and he informed me that the tape was full of him playing the piano. He claimed to be a concert pianist.

Maurice turned to me, wiping the drool from his mouth, and asked, "Sizzle, can I ask you a personal question?" I responded, stiffling a giggle, "Sure, Maurice, go right ahead."

"Are you a virgin?" he asked. I was afraid that would be the question. Hiding my amusement and mild discomfort I replied, "No Maurice, no I am not a virgin."

"That's what I thought. . .being a hot Irish lassie like yourself!" he answered, very enthusiastically.

Oh. God.

"I have a proposition for you." He continued. "I am a very wealthy man. I own a big house. My wife, she's a cold fish. Cold fish! She lives on the other side of the big house. I might be old but I can still get it up. You wouldn't have to work."

Oh. My. God.

"I like working. And besides, I don't actually live in Los Gatos, Maurice. I go to school in Santa Cruz and I will be moving back there in a few weeks." Lame attempt at an excuse without the balls to be direct and scream EWWWWWW.

"Oh, that's ok! You wouldn't have to drive either. I have a driver and he could pick you up and take you home. I could help you pay for school. You wouldn't have to worry about a thing."

I am already worried. About a great number of things, the most of which is how the hell do I get out of this?!

"Maurice, that's very generous for you to offer and I am . . .flattered but I don't think my boyfriend would be happy about that arrangement." It was the best I could come up with.

"Oh, a boyfriend, eh? I should have known you would have a boyfriend, you are such a hot young thing." He seemed a bit rejected. Little did he know that I didn't technically have a boyfriend.

"Thank you for the tape Maurice. You are an excellent piano player. I have to get back to work now." I tried to be graceful and kind, while slowly moving away from him.

The door to the storeroom suddenly swung open and the creepy guy walked in. Who would have thought I would ever be relieved to see him! I made my way to the door, my back to Maurice and a pleading look directed at creepy guy. I waited at the door for Maurice to slowly make his way out of the storeroom and through the store. As he left he said, "If you ever change your mind, my number is on the tape." And then he took my hand, slipped me a $20 and walked out the door.