How Lisa Beat Brandy to the punch

In my first entry, I openly wondered how long it would take until a random homeless person hit on Brandy. Today, unless Brandy has not been open with me in the past, I succeeded in trumping that little card of hers.

Now, let me clarify: I am not above homeless people, nor do I pretend to be. I try my best not to be the person who looks the other way when they ask you questions as you walk by, and I actually have many homeless friends (I realize this makes me sound like the kind of tool who says "I love gay/black/Hispanic/short/fat/purple/alien people! I even have some of them as friends!"). But seriously. I think I do a fairly good job of not discriminating against the homeless population and even encouraging others to treat them with respect.

That being said.

Just because you're homeless, that does not mean I will let you use my computer. Or my cell phone. Or hold my purse. There are lines that must be drawn.

So today, I'm sitting in the local coffee shop circa 8:15am, planning an exciting day of applying to nannying jobs on sittercity and medical experiments on Craigslist. Some dude comes and sits next to me, but like any casually cool coffee shop patron, I continue about my business. I was actually reading this blog at this point, and the recent comment from Jon Ufer. It turns out that the man next to me was also reading this comment from Jon Ufer, because he opened conversation by saying, "So you're having a friend come to visit you?"

I did a polite laugh and closed the internet window. The man proceeded to then ask me if he could use my computer. I told him that I had a lot of work to do, ha, ha, ha (which was actually the truth, a departure from my typical lying-in-Chicago syndrome). So he decided we should talk. He started listing off all the medications he takes -- which I was fine with, because I've been looking for someone to commiserate with about the slow moving health care reform. Then he started talking about how he was a "level 5, stage 9, numbers numbers numbers." I assumed that this was some kind of Medicare classification. No. I was wrong. This actually turned out to be the level of criminal that he is. WHAT? I DON'T KNOW. I DON'T KNOW. He noted that it was a less dangerous classification than his best friend. At that point, I tried to get back to my work, so he asked to see my cell phone and complimented/reached for my purse. This was all very weird because it was not like a purse-snatching on a subway. No. It was in a coffee shop, at 8 in the morning, and I was surrounded by yuppies who were all blatantly eavesdropping and waiting to see how I was going to handle it.

In the end, I told him I was going to put my headphones in. I prefaced this move by saying, "I'm going to put my headphones in now!" Then, as I placed them in my ears, I announced, "My headphones are now in! I can't hear anything!" He kept talking, and I actually could hear him, but again, I said, "Ahh, yeah, I can't hear you, music! Music!"

As he walked away, I heard him mumble something about wanting to meet me for coffee again sometime.

And that was when I knew that I had been asked out by a homeless man before Brandy.

P.S. We finally got our hot water turned on yesterday! Thus ending my 4 day rampage against cleanliness.