Why I like Molly: Molly and I rode the Fulton 5 home from Bay to Breakers. We sat next to two young men, one was missing a front tooth, the other had moved past intoxicated into catatonic stupor. Our toothless friend (let’s call him Uncle Jebb) introduced himself, and tried to draw us into conversation while we ignored him.
(Uncle Jebb begins touching Molly’s back for no apparent reason.)
Molly: …What are you doing?
Jebb: You had some fuzzy things on you. I was getting them off.
Molly: Hmmm. (Continuing conversation with me) blahblahblah.
Comatose Carl: Mmfmmffph.
Jebb: No dude, we’re almost there. If you’ve gotta hurl, hurl out the window.
Jebb: Dude, you’re not getting off.
Me: Jesus, if he has to hurl, let him out.
(Uncle Jebb and I have a brief verbal exchange, edited for length.)
Me: Molly, do you want to move, so he doesn’t boot on you?
Molly: I work with kids all week, I’ve had much nastier things on me than a little puke. I can shower.
(Jebb begins touching Molly’s back again.)
Molly: OK. You need to stop touching me now.
Molly: Thank you.