Well, so here I am arriving at Safari Sam's for the Hot Club of Cowtown show and looking for a parking space when I'm accosted by a security guard. He motions with his arm, and I think he's just being nice and pointing out an available parking spot for me, but when I start to back up, he comes around to my passenger door and says that what he was really doing was asking if he could ride with me. Goodness. I politely laugh, and he makes some comment about how pretty my eyes are, do I have a boyfriend, and actually, he does have a spot for me - he'll just go move a shopping cart out of the way. Lovely. I pull the truck around to the next row of parking spaces, he moves the shopping cart, I turn off the engine, and because I'm not responsible enough to have all of my crap together the MOMENT I park, I reach into my purse to gather ID, cash, debit card, chapstick, etc. There's also a good song on the radio, and I'd really like to also run a hairbrush through my hair before I go into the venue, and I'm hoping that this security guard will leave me the hell alone JUST LONG ENOUGH for me to gather everything up and make sure I look okay. No such luck. Here comes the tap on the window. Inwardly groaning, I turn the battery back on, and roll the window down. While I'm still trying to put all my stuff together, he asks me why I didn't just valet park, and I think, "Because you didn't give me a chance to!", but I say, truthfully, "I don't like other people driving my truck." "Well, you're in the valet area, so they'll make you pay anyway." "This is supposed to be a free lot." "It's okay. If they ask, I'll tell them you're okay to park here. Let me see your left hand?" I'm now super-annoyed, but I'm not willing to risk having my truck be fucked with, so I'm still smiling and trying to be polite, without being encouraging. While I'm walking to the venue, he continues his pursuit and we have a conversation about how small my feet are, and although I try to convince him that it's an optical illusion, I really have some pretty wide feet, he's not buying it.

I manage to make it into the venue without further incident, but now I have to figure out an escape plan - because if he's still out there when I leave, he's going to ask me for my number. Now, I can already tell there's no future with this guy, because a) he's clearly not very smart, b0 as a security guard, he more than likely does not meet the criteria established in the Fully Employed M-A-N program Wanda has enrolled me in, and c) he does not seem like the kind of guy who would want to go to a lot of country shows. He seems more like the type to want to see Snoop Dog or Kanye West. Clearly not a match made in heaven. So my options are:

a) Be a grown-up and upon leaving, gently tell him I'm flattered but not interested.

b) Meet someone else inside and have him walk me out at the end of the evening.

c) Give him KROQ's Loser Line.

d) Give him my ex-boyfriend's home phone number and use the name of said ex's female sometimes-roommate.

If you guessed "A", you should know I'm not that mature. Puh-lease. I actually lucked out and went with option "B" - and that way I didn't have to lie. But man, I'm so glad I had options "C" and "D" in my pocket. You should always have a back-up plan.