Musings
an Online Journal of Sorts

By Alyce Wilson

Jan. 16, 2003: The Creep Factor

I have an uncanny ability for attracting creeps.

Now, this doesn't mean every guy I've dated has been one. In fact, I can think of several who weren't creeps, including my most recent ex.

However, if I didn't know any better, I would think I had some kind of magnet inside me, and that creeps were metal. And I don't mean creeps in the sense of standing me up on dates. I mean creep in the sense of carving swastikas into their foreheads or keeping their bodily fluids in jars.

While I've had the good sense not to date most of the creeps who are drawn to me, I have dated a couple guys who were creepy enough. There's definitely a scale, ranging from staring at me lewdly to plastering the inside of their van with my columns.

When I had a show on the college radio station, WPSU, I had a fan from the local state penitentiary. He once drew me a picture of a fortress on a hill with skulls on the door. This wasn't nearly as creepy, though, as when I was on a different college radio station, several years later, and received a packet of autopsy photos from a guy who killed somebody while listening to our show.

Needless to say, I have an unlisted phone number.

Let's talk for a moment about your average creep, the lewd, drooling guy who can't take a hint and confuses any contact for interest. How do I attract these guys? Blame my outgoing nature.

The ironic thing is that I started life as an introvert who hid her nose in books. Comedy drew me out of my shell, and high school journalism taught me badly needed social skills. Nobody would guess today that I was once a shy bookworm; well, unless they see me reading.

And I've also never outgrown those Sunday School lessons about "do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

I remember sitting in one such Sunday School class, discussing a hypothetical scenario. Our Sunday School teacher asked us what we would do if we entered the school cafeteria and all our friends were picking on someone who was sitting alone. The correct answer, the Sunday School teacher said, was to tell the friends they were rude and to befriend the poor, lonely soul, even if they are playing with their green JELL-O.

So chalk it up to a combination of altruism and fear of disappointing a long-dead Sunday School teacher.

But part of me just can't forget how awful it feels to be left out, and I don't suppose I'm going to change. I just try not to send mixed signals when the creeps come calling, something that, unfortunately, many women never learn to do.

I've known women who would dance with men just because they were asked, even when they preferred to dance alone. I'm not saying you have to karate chop someone because they want your phone number, but it's best to say "no" before karate chops become necessary.

And now, my Dr. Phil moment: Many relationship problems would be solved if men learned how to say "yes" and women learned how to say "no."

(pause for audience applause)

The question on some people's minds right now is, who wrote that song "Creep"? Because if you're anything like me, it's been running through your head for most of this essay. If you know, tell me in my message forum.

Unless, of course, you're a creep.

Moral:
Mental note, add another deadbolt to the front door.

Copyright 2003 by Alyce Wilson

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