Beware: stalker!

Okay, I’m not your typical psycho sexual terrifying stalker who might be lurking in your driveway.

I’m more of a serial schmoozer. If I see you in the bakery, on the street, or at the YMCA, I absolutely must talk to you, find out everything about you, and unfortunately for you, tell you everything about me. My need to know about you is like a junkies needle in his arm.

It matters not if you are man, woman, child, black, Asian, Hasidic, Muslim, etc.

I want to know what you do, where you live, what you like, what you don’t like ( which at this point is probably me), and what your politics are.

Since I’m a big guy, a perfect stranger, not everyone is terribly comfortable with my approach. So I work on trying not to be intimidating. But I understand it still can be an issue.

But since my addiction is such that I do need to know about you, I find it hard to stop.

I get this trait from two people, my father and my uncle. When I was young my father would announce that he was heading into town to buy a quart of milk. We would laugh, knowing that he would take 4 hours to return, after yakking it up with every person by the village square.  We were comfortable knowing that Dad wasn’t at the bar, or in the embrace of a strange woman, he was in conversational embrace with the folks who loved him.

My uncle Paul, now a delightful 92 year old, was worse. A very high level hospital administrator, he absolutely never met a person he did not like.  To go out to dinner with him was a memorable experience. By the end of the night, he knew everything about the wait staff, and all of the people at all of the surrounding tables. This was his oxygen.

And since he spends his senior years out and about less, but online more, we still get to enjoy the observation of this trait.

So if you see me coming, run. If you have an appointment within 5 minutes, run fast. Cause if you don’t, you are going to miss that appointment.

Within 5 minutes I am heading out to the YMCA. Who will be my victims today?

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