Chain of events ending in bad cologne.

This morning I arrived at the school I work at twice a week. The doors were locked. No school today, I thought. Someone came and opened the door for me.

Shortly after I'd launched into my work, the phone rang, so I answered it like a good little receptionist, even though that's not what they pay me for. It was a man named Kim and he needed to speak to someone. I took a message and that was that.

So just now, there were a few loud knocks on my window. It freaked me out! I am pretty jumpy with stuff like that. After hearing this nut walk up and down the side of the school knocking on all the windows, I decided to go check things out. It was Kim, locked out of the school!

"Are you Pat?" I asked. Pat? Now where did I get that?
"No, I'm Kim."
"Oh right, Kim. I'm sorry. I spoke to you on the phone earlier."
"Oh, nice to meet you," Kim said, extending his arm and placing his hand on my shoulder.
Wait. What?
Kim smelled like 20-year-old dollar store cologne. I held my breath as I said,
"Let me walk you down to the kindergarten."
Luckily the kindergartners weren't there today, because Pat/Kim, in his BYU hat and nauseating scent, was too much for even this 22-year-old to handle.
"You saved the day my darling," he said, his hand finding its way back to my arm, lingering too long to be considered socially acceptable, his eyes doing the same with my face.

I can still feel his hand where it caressed my bare flesh. Gross!