Strange men on street corners

I’ve come to realize that over the next few months the majority of my blog entries will probably be about the wacky people I come across in NYC. After my encounter with the strange man on the train, I didn’t think anything could top that. But then I met Cameron.

Last night while on my way home from the Barnes & Noble at Lincoln Center (the most fantastic bookstore this side of the Atlantic—nothing can top Waterstone’s in Picadilly Circus), I had an incredible craving for a cheeseburger from McDonald’s. There’s usually a McDonald’s on every other street corner, but for some particular reason I didn’t see any around so I headed down Broadway on a desperate mission to find one. Just as I was about to cross the street, two men walked past men and one of them stopped in his tracks and made a beeline straight for me.

“Excuse me miss, excuse me miss, can I talk to you for a second?”

Normally when these things happen, I kindly ignore and keep it moving, but this one was particularly persistent. He followed behind me and kept asking me to stop, slow down for a second.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bother you but when I saw you I thought you were so beautiful and I just had to tell you. You have beautiful skin. What kind of soap do you use? Personally, I like Dove. Ivory and Zest are too harsh on my skin. What’s your name?”

Initially I was flattered. Some random guy stops me on the street to tell me I’m beautiful and that I have nice skin. But before I could even say thanks or smile from ear to ear, he starts talking about how certain soaps irritate his skin and how his diabetes makes it hard for him to use just any old soap.

“Uh, thanks. Thank you very much. My name is Coco,” I finally said after his monologue about the greatness of Dove soap.

“Coco? That’s a funny name. Is that Egyptian? I have ancestors from Egypt, that’s why I can’t use Zest or Ivory. Our skin is deprived of moisture. See, white people can use any soap they want, but if I use it, I’ll get ashy and my skin peels. So Coco, huh? My name is Cameron. Just like the rapper, but he spells his name C A M R O N. I spell mine C A M E R O N. See, I have an E in my name, he doesn’t!!”

This man was beyond weird, but I wasn’t creeped out by him like I was with the guy on the train. Cameron with an E was thoroughly amusing. I almost forgot about my mission to get a burger!

“Oooh, interesting. I bet Cam’ron doesn’t use Zest or Ivory either!” He obviously didn’t realize that I was being completely sarcastic because once again he started on his soap monologue.

“You know what the best thing is? Mixing cocoa butter with your lotion. I think it’s fate that we met! I use cocoa butter everyday and then I meet a beautiful girl named Coco. I really think it’s fate! A lot of women use Oil of Olay, but Dove has more moisturizer than that,” he said.

“Oh my god! I use Oil of Olay! I looooove the one with Shea Butter. It smells so good!”

I’m sad to admit it, but at that point I was no longer being sarcastic and actually being serious. I love the Shea Butter Oil of Olay soap:-) As soon as he said it, it triggered some sort of girlie reaction inside of me, similar to when you find out that you and someone else you know love the same perfume or shade of lipstick. I could have stood there all night talking about soap, moisturizers and eventually Grey’s Anatomy, but then he asked for my phone number and I realized that I was stopped on a street corner by a perfect stranger that wanted to talk to me about soap. I would not be giving this man my phone number.

“Well Coco, can I have your phone number?”
“Actually, I really need to get to McDonald’s and I’m seeing someone right now. I’m sorry!” I said.

I hated to let the poor guy down like that, but I believe he was crazy. As much as I’d like to believe that I’m gorgeous enough to stop men in their tracks, I don’t really think that’s the case. New York is just full of really weird, slightly schizophrenic people that have no problem having absolutely random and pointless conversations with you. It’s perfectly “normal” to them. So until I get to the point where encounters with these crazies are as normal to me as smelling piss in a train station, I’ll continue to be Judgey McJudgerson tell you all about it!