It was rather ironic that his shirt read satisfaction guaranteed because I was not satisfied. Far from it, in fact the reality was I was laughing uncontrollably to keep from crying. He was sweating profusely, large beads drilled down his forehead before getting lost in his somewhat thick facial hair, only to appear again in slow but steady dribbled that would finally find a resting place over top of the second "i" in satisfied. The conversation wasn't cohesive, it was word vomit, both spontaneous and vile, as the words passed quickly over the metal barbell in his tongue and caressed the yellow stains on his crooked teeth. I wanted him to leave but he wouldn’t not for another a hour and seventeen minutes.  At some point during the conversation he propositioned me for sex but not before recounting the number of times he had ridden his bike to the health department to get to tested for STD'S and even told me I could check him for myself. And so when he moved his hands from the bars of the bicycle to his belt I made a phone call, which stalled the awkward conversation for only a few moments. I then tried a different approach and explained to him that I needed to go to the office for something. I thought he would wait, I could find refuge in the office, but he followed me and waited like an obedient dog while I washed my hands repeatedly, methodically, as though his sweat hadn’t landed on his shirt but rather soiled the crevasses of my hands. I went back outside to my aquarium, he followed.  There was still one hour and three minutes left till he could pick up his check.  I kept telling myself he was harmless, he was obtuse, dense, maybe mentally retarded but I had no concrete evidence of any of this.  Thankfully the conversation changed, he stopped trying to ask me out to dinner only after I told him three times I didn’t eat, and he didn’t get the hint, so I told him about my anorexia, he then insisted on taking me to get a piercing. And so I gladly welcomed the change in topic. He told me about his kids, one only a year old the other four, and about his fiancé whom had created my space accounts for the two children so they could talk to people, child predators I presume. It made me angry and sick to think that man so lacking in substance could procreate, that he was ok with his limited situation, his just above minimum wage job supporting a family of four, that he spent any spare time on the internet rather than playing with his kids or working for that matter. And yet he was satisfied so much that he stayed out in the 98 degree heat outside my office window for one hour and nine minutes, never even attempting to wipe the sweat from his brow.