Creepy Creeper

A while ago, I observed an exchange that, while thoroughly uninteresting for the rest of you, I keep replaying in my head.*

A typical college girl--not a beauty, but not particularly unattractive--was walking into the library, right in front of my desk, and a typical dorky guy--scrawny and inexperienced due to fate and religious upbringing--followed her through the entrance (which is narrow enough our blind patron hits into it two or three times a week--at least), and I suppose he got too close to this paragon of womanhood, because she stopped, glared at him, and said, "Don't follow me, creepy creeper."

The guy gave out a stammering apology, which you would, and stood there while the girl continued on her way.

And that was it--the whole exchange.  I wrote it down in February (02-02-26--the day my buddy Marshal turned fifty), and I still think of it, enough to someday want to write a post about it.

"Creepy creeper."  That's what the girl said.  It's such an odd thing to say, almost musical in its rhythm.  But it's also insanely uncreative and trite, almost the sort of thing a pre-K child would say.  So, perhaps it's from a show, something like Spongebob or Paw Patrol or Velma.

But it was also so shamelessly rude**, and spoken loud enough that a middle-aged stranger could hear it, that I can't help but wonder if maybe the two of them were friends (or at least "friends") and this was a term of endearment.  And if I lived in a different community, I could even speculate that they are in a relationship, and this was part of a game they play, where she is the dominant one, always keeping her submissive pet in check, and had simply left the leash and ballgag home that night.

But what if it they didn't know each other, what if it was just what it appeared to be, a brief interaction between strangers, one of whom called the other a creepy creeper?

How does being accused of, um, inappropriate intimacy or stalking not make you feel bad, make you even more socially inhibited than before?  Is this guy going to go walking into an ocean or swimming pool, or worse, to the nearest guns and ammo store (which this town has three)?

I fully realize that it was probably not something I should have given a second thought to.  I know we're not supposed to care, but... I still did.  I still do.

Creepy.

*Almost as though it had been said to me.  You know how when you have an argument with someone and months--even years--later, you keep thinking, "Why didn't I say this at the time?"  The French even have a word for that--l’esprit de l’escalier--which, although I can't pronounce it, I can certainly understand it.

**The French have a word for that as well--Cuntish.