The magic of a kind word

So I had my very first sleazy street proposition last night.

I'm walking down 15th street at 11:30, and considering the time and desolate streets, I'm doing my best to stay simultaneously alert and aloof. A guy on a bike rides by me in the opposite direction, but my city sense is telling me that I'm in a very dark and deserted spot, and so I keep moving quickly and purposely, not looking at anyone and making sure that I look like I'm not looking at anyone. I hear him say, "Goodnight" after he's about 10 feet past me. With no desire to be neighborly and nice at that time and that place, I keep moving.

After I cross over 19th and start walking alongside Scott Circle, who do I see beside me but the bike guy, who's turned around and cycled two blocks to ask me, "What are you doing? Heading home?"

"Yeah, just heading home from a friends place." Don't let my calmly worded description disguise the fact that I was pretty nervous. I knew immediately what was going on, but here's a guy looking for hookups on a deserted street late on a Monday night, so while it was a pretty safe bet that he was harmless, there's still no guarantees that he'll leave me alone when I turn him down. I had a sudden insight into that scary suspicion that women can feel in situations like this, the equation that things will probably end up fine, but there's the possibility that they may not.

"Yeah? Do you...want to talk for a bit?", he says, with as bashful a smile as you could expect from a guy propositioning someone on a city street at night.

I couldn't help a smile. Sure it was a sketchy proposition, and even if I was inclined, I wouldn't have taken him up on it. But he was extremely good-looking, and had a nice accent, and while I was still feeling very unsure of the whole situation, I was still kind of shocked to feel slightly charmed.

Now, I know enough to not be too flattered, enough to know that it was not the case that this guy was taking a casual night bike ride and just happened to run across a guy whose looks were so good that they prompted a proposition. And really, being in Scott Circle at 11:30 pm on a Monday is about the closest thing to being The Last Man On Earth as you could get this side of a nuclear war, so it's not like he had any other options.

But still, it was...kind of nice. My self-esteem has been at rock bottom for the last couple of months, and my self-image is at a 21st century low, and these are the kinds of things that turn a man to Twix, excessive alcohol and Excel formulas to try and forget, so it doesn't take much to lift my spirits these days. Having anyone hit on me, for whatever reason and at whatever time actually made me feel better. As pathetic as it may seem that I have to be somewhere where there's no one else around to get hit on, it was still kind of nice.

"Sorry," I said with a crooked smile. "Thanks, though."

"Okay," he said as he cycled off, and then with a laugh: "But you're still so cute."

That was unnecessary. If he was hitting on me out of sheer desperation, he didn't need to say that, and he'd just gotten turned down, so he really didn't need to say that. But again, no matter his reasons or the circumstances, it was really nice to hear. The mirror has been telling me some really nasty things lately, so I'll take "you're so cute" in any way at any time. The fact that I was wearing the dregs of my wardrobe made it mean even more.

So thanks to the midnight biker. I hope you soon afterwards found a like-minded, few-minutes mate and got laid something fierce. I didn't need that, but I needed the compliment. Thanks.