Loading Dock Lovin'

In training the people who will be taking over for me as Editor of my college's campus magazine, I had to give them information about the printer we use to produce the magazine.

In giving directions to the printer, this is what I said:

"You’ll go straight for about 20 minutes until you see a Wendy’s and Diary Queen on the right. Turn right and there’s an old broken-down sign that says [the printer's name]. Turn right into the parking lot. Don’t be scared. It’s okay. Walk into the office and don’t be put off by the smell and the fact that it looks like you’ve just stepped directly into 1975. Tell the scary-looking receptionist that you’re here to see Julie and she’ll make absolutely no effort to direct you to where you need to go. Go straight back and to the right to Julie’s office."

I'd say that this is a pretty accurate description of the situation I've faced many times throughout my three year tenure as Editor.

The worst/best part of all of my trips to the printer are the guys at the loading dock who always hit on me.

This morning, I go to pick up the issues and the loading dock man greats me by my first and last name (keep in mind I'm wearing gym shorts, a t-shirt, a baseball hat, no makeup, and my legs are in need of a good shave while this conversation is happening).

Him: I love reading your articles!
Me: Thanks.
Him: You know why I like them?
Me: Why?
Him: Because you're so real and honest.
Me: Thanks.
Him: Can I ask you some personal questions?
Me: Um...
Him: When am I going to see you again?
Me: Never. I'm graduating.
Him: Ohhh, what are you doing this weekend?
Me: Um, graduation stuff.
Him: Okay, baby, I'll see you later, gorgeous!

Whyyyyyyyyyyyy do black men love me so much? Wrong gender, dudeeeeee.