Biker Chick

"I need gas. I'm going to pull over to get gas now, you girls will just have to wait."

"Ok mom, we're not in that big of a hurry."

Good. Whether you are or aren't I'm getting some gas.

"Do you think I can maneuver my car between that Harley and Van?"

The only pump that didn't have a car in front of it stood on the other side of a haphazardly parked Harley and one of those blasted family vans.

I sized up the room between and decided it would be close. If I was going to hit one or the other I would choose the van. I could see a couple of bikers standing in front of the doors to the shop, talking to a mechanic and decided the family van would be easier to deal with.

They were dressed as most bikers do, in leather, blue jeans, helmets, sun glasses, long, greasy hair straggling over the edge of their collars, scruffy moustaches and beards covering their faces.

I manage to squeeze neatly in between and park my car even though the talking had stopped and they made no attempt to hide the fact that they were staring at my driving skills. In awe, I'm sure.

I step out of the car and flip the lock to my gas tank. I can feel the eyes on my back as I grab the hose and insert the nozzle into my car. I quickly look in their direction to see if they are in fact watching me and am surprised that yes they are. Two of them are about 10 feet away, sitting on their motorcycles, unabashedly staring at me and when I looked in their direction, one of them (the better looking of the two) smiled widely at me. I couldn't help but smile back. He was cute. He had a great smile.

What did I do that for? My daughter and her boyfriend's sisters are sitting in the car and I'm flirting with some bikers while I'm getting my gas. Geezus I'm sick.

I turn my attention back to squeezing the big nozzle and watching the opening to my gas tank intently, in case some of the fluid decides to overflow all over the place. It has happened once before. About 10 years ago, but I've never forgotten. I pay attention now. And I cannot encourage this attention from these vagabonds. My daughter is in the car!

The gas nozzle clicks off and I hang it back up without looking in his direction. I know he's still staring. I can feel it. I also feel my cheeks turning bright red. I'm blushing. I'm embarrassed. I'm 43 years old. He's probably 33. I'm not a biker chick. I'm the furthest thing from a biker chick. I'm fat. I'm brunette. They like skinny, big breasted, blondes. My lips start to spread into a nervous, uncontrollable smile as I compare myself to a biker chick, and I almost start to laugh out loud as I contemplate what my daughter is thinking. I know she is watching this intently. All of my passengers are.

I open the car door to grab my wallet. I feel like I'm doing a public performance and the pressure is brutal as I try not to knock the door into my head or something...it's unnerving, all this attention. I don't like it.

MD (my daughter) looks over at me and says, "What the hell is this?" She nods towards my audience.

"Nothing, give me my wallet, hurry."

"Do you see those guys over there? Why are they staring at you? Are you flirting with them?"

"NO, hand me my wallet, hurry."

My cell phone starts to ring and I practically throw myself onto it, thankful for something else to concentrate on. "HELLO!!, HELLO? HELLO?"

"Shelly?"

"Yes Mom, what do you want?"

I walk quickly towards the door of the garage to pay for my gas. Phone to my ear, mouth yapping quickly, barely hearing my mother on the other end. She's a diversion. She is my saviour. I need her to stay on the line to help me make my way into the garage, pay for my gas and get out of there. I pass another biker on my way. I know he turned his head to watch me walk in. He took his cue from his friends. He smiled also when we passed. I pretended to be deep in conversation in the middle of a very important telephone call. I was oblivious to the rif raf.

I quickly pay while I continue with my call and walk proudly back to my Toyota. My mom hangs up before I get in the car. Struggling with my damn purse I try to stuff my cell phone into the small spot that is available in the junk filled bottomless pit of a bag. This delays my opening the door and getting in. They're still watching. I'm on fire with embarrassment. I want to laugh out very loud and yell at them to stop.

I manage to open the door, I glance their way and they are both smiling openly at me.

"Hey there, how are ya tonight?"

"Not bad."

"Where are you off to?"

"Home."

"Can we come?"

"No, my mommy wouldn't like it."

"We don't want to see your Mother!"

I'm in the car. Door is closing. He's at my window. I slowly roll the window down.

"My name is Sam." Reaching into his wallet he pulls out a business card and hands it to me.

"We're in the entertainment business. Ya know, DJ, impersonations, Elvis, Rod Stewart. Anyway we're doing a big party downtown, not this weekend but the week after next. We would love for you to come. Bring your friends. Give me a call and I'll tell you all about it."

I take the card and put it on my visor.

"Thank you Sam. Bye bye!"

I roll the window up, the girls burst out laughing and I drive as quickly as I can out off the lot, swerving in front of the cars that were approaching so that I wouldn't have to stop to wait for a chance to turn onto the road.

"Well girl, you should be happy, you still got it!" MD's boyfriend's 15 year old little sister gave me that vote of confidence. "You just had some bikers try to pick you up!"

Yikes. Something's definitely wrong with this world.