Can I Holla? They Had Dumps Like a Truck, Truck, Truck.

18 May

Dumps like a truck, truck, truck…yelling like what, what, what?

 

I’d love to sit here and give you a reference point of a website, person, professional relationship expert or otherwise that has mentioned the top worst place to pick up women. However, since I’m both too lazy to find the site, and feel as though I can provide a more apt list…here we go.

Among the worst places to pick up women, I’d say few are worse than the following:

1. A funeral:  Despite what Will Ferrel did in Wedding Crashers, picking up chicks at a funeral is a big fail.  Nothing hot being surrounded by death. “Grandmas stiff…and so am I”

2.  A rest stop:  Actually, any kind of traveling stop…ever. Mainly, because you’ll never see them again.  Unless you’re looking for a little temporary boom boom pow, stay away from “love on the run.”

3. Mowing the lawn/ working in the yard/ crossing the street: When you’re in front of your house or walking about town and  a car drives past you hollering ridiculous things…it’s annoying. “I see you plowing those flowers, girrrrrrrl. I’m jealous! Come over here and plow me!”

4.  Getting a massage: They’re wrist deep in your muscle tissue…but they’d like to be deeper and more “in touch.” Nothing is more bizarre than being stark naked, getting a rub down, and having someone try to holler at you by whispering in your ear as they massage your neck and tush. (Actually, sounds a lot like my Saturday nights).

The worst, and most recent encounter I’ve had is the fifth most offensive place to be hit on…the gas station.

It’s 8am and I’m rushing to get to work, only to hop in my car and discover that I need gas. I pull into the station, and start to pump my gas and lean against my car. I had a meeting that day, so I’m dressed in a long-sleeved button down and long pants, completely covered.

All of a sudden I hear… “AY…GUHL”

Are they talking to me, I think? No…I’m crazy.

GUHL! YO! GUHL…IN DA PINK!”

Shit. They’re talking to me…ok, don’t panic. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic…and don’t turn around.

“GUHL YOU FINE AS HELL, GUHL. Turn around, boo! Turn around.”

I’m not responding, and I’m shocked this is happening…so I keep my hand on the gas nozzle. I guess my ignoring them is frustrating, so they start getting more specific…

“Yo..lissen…guhl, in the pink and white shirt, with the green car…on the real…you fine. Look at that booty! YOU STACKED LIKE A SISTAH!”

Is this happening? I’m trying to coax the pump to dispel the gas faster…so, like an idiot…I’m SHAKING the hose.

“GUHL, OH GUUUUUHL…I bet you handle that black hose well! Would love to see just how well, GUHLLLLLLLL.

At this point, all I’m thinking is, “WHEN THE HELL WILL THAT LIGHT THEY ARE SITTING AT TURN GREEN?”

So I turn around for maybe 2.5 seconds, to get a look at whomever has been screaming at me for the past 5 minutes and it turns out, it’s 4 men in a dump truck!

“GUHL…YOU TAKE CARE…WITH YO FINE SELF.”

They drive off and I wonder…does that ever work? For anyone? Have you ever heard of a story where you ask, “Oh, where did you two meet?” And someone replies, “Well, funniest thing. Chad was stopped at the stop light while I was pumping gas and he just “hollered” at me and I thought, WOW…that takes a lot.”

Seriously, if you’re a “Can I holla?” success story, please let me know!

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