I’m walking on the outskirts of downtown Raleigh one Saturday afternoon in October. It’s an NC State game day, so there are small groups of red and white-clad fans heading out to watch the game at locals bars and restaurants. A block or so ahead of me had been one such group who disappear from view around a corner, but I soon hear a short burst of angry yelling coming from that direction. I assume that the noise wasn’t coming from them but was more likely directed at them by a someone asking unsuccessfully for money, a not uncommon issue in Raleigh as in other cites.

Sure enough, several seconds later I someone coming from that direction. She’s short, but she’s moving with determination and making a beeline for me. I brace myself for the pitch that I’m sure is coming.

She steps right up to me and says, “Pardon me, I’m terribly sorry to be a pest, but…”

I want to roll my eyes at the insincere apology and “pest” remark, understanding that to be an effort to soften me up a bit before the inevitable ask comes. Under the rules by which she’s playing, I’m supposed to respond by assuring her that she’s not being a pest and encouraging her to continue. I refuse to play along, so she continues.

And I find myself surprisingly fascinated, but not with her story (not at first, anyway) but with her style and physical manner of speaking (yes, physical manner!). They are odd, to say the least. Her enunciation is practiced and flawless despite how fast she speaks. And as she speaks, she blinks rapidly and moves her jaw in exaggerated fashion. The image that pops into my mind is that of Steve Matin’s portrayal of sadistic dentist Orin Scrivello in the 1986 movie Little Shop of Horrors, but in my vision he’s working as this woman’s speech therapist, making regular use of torture instruments as punishment for imperfect speech patterns.

But the story this woman is telling me begins finally to capture my attention, and it’s a pretty wild one. You might even call it outlandish. She claims that she’s just come from the hospital where she’d been awake all night visiting with her father before he passed away following a long battle with cancer. She’d left the hospital and was on her way on foot — many miles from the nearest hospital, mind you — to visit with her daughter who was in some specialized care center for a disease or disability whose specifics I no longer recall. And she had to walk because of blah, blah, blah… I barely catch this part as my initial fascination has started to fade.

As interesting as the story has been, after two or three minutes I’m no closer to buying it and am starting to feel impatient to get back on my way, so it seems time to cut her off. At the first pause in her storytelling, I quickly jump in to tell her that I’m unable to help her but I wish her the best.

And after a brief silence, I’m met with perhaps the greatest look of contempt I’ve ever witnessed. I prepare to be blasted with a spray of profanities and insults, but instead she tells me (angrily) that she had only intended to ask that I pray for her.

I feel momentarily ashamed as she walks off, so much so that I might even apologize except for the fact that after a few steps she stops, turns back to me, and says with a good bit of edge to her voice, “You so fucking sexy!” in a way that leaves no room for doubt that this is the cruelest insult one could ever utter to another person. And she nods her head as she makes this utterly bizarre statement, as if confirming that she’s just settled something important. She then turns around and is on her way once more, leaving me partially bewildered, partially amused (laughing aloud, in fact), and utterly speechless as she speeds off to find another person to pester and entertain.