It happens to all of us every now and again. You walk toward a stranger on the sidewalk, you side-step to not run into them, both of you go the same way ... then both back the other way. You get hung up. You smile and laugh. You apologize. You go about your way.
Never in all of my 28 years have I been a part of such a ridiculous encounter.
On the way to lunch, Melina and I waited to cross the street. The walk sign came on. We started to cross.
Coming toward us was an older guy in ridiculous '80s running gear. A sweatband on his forehead, those too short running shorts, the mesh tank top over a t-shirt ... a real train wreck.
I'll admit there have been times when I have decided I'm standing my ground and make the other person dodge. NOT this time. I wanted out of this guy's way.
On my left, Melina took the outer maneuvering route. There were strangers on my right, so I decided to follow suit and go left, too.
He kept going straight, but wavered a bit as if in a drunken stupor. Wavered a bit TOWARD me. Melina made it, but I couldn't get out of the way.
I stopped to see which way he would go before continuing.
He never stopped his forward motion, kept mumbling something like a crazy person ... and continued going straight.
I couldn't go anywhere. Still, he went forward ... continuously bumping into me like a Roomba does when it hits a wall and needs to turn around.
Correction ... continuously bumping into my BOOB.
First there was a boob graze, and I expected the usual recoil and apology when an accident such as that happens.
Instead, he looked down, seemed to see what had happened, and PRESSED forward two or three more times before brushing past.
I spun around with an annoyed, "EXCUSE ME!!?" He never turned around.
I stood in the middle of the street, speechless. Melina stared at me with her jaw dropped. I said, "He poked me in the boob!" as I instinctively wiped my shirt off. I felt moisture on my hand. I looked down to find a wet spot left on my boob from his sweaty, disgusting hand.
I was molested in the middle of F Street NW in broad daylight! Talk about a ruined appetite. Even the two or three hand washings prior to getting in line couldn't wash away the filth. I considered buying a new shirt, too. Ew.