pizza picnic, pirates, and psychos

i've never thought of a church as a likely place to meet boys. but last night changed everything. after the meeting finished there was a pizza picnic on the front lawn. i was sitting with my friends, enjoying my salad and pizza, and in general having a nice summer evening. i get up to throw out my trash and was accosted, "hey, i really like your shirt!" i look left and see a thirty-something with chops and wire glasses. i know what shirt i'm wearing (a messy pirate plus schooner motif from urban outfitters), and purposely don't look down to acknowledge this comment.
"that's a great shirt," he continues in a pirate accent, "arrr you a pirate?" obviously not, real pirates would never wear a shirt that's basically a name-tag. (unless they are very clever pirates.)
i'm gradually feeling more and more uncomfortable, knowing that he and his group of friends are all looking at me and my shirt, which consequently means that they are also looking at my boobs. (i am thinking of purging my wardrobe of all tees that are not solid-colored to avoid these interactions.) i have to walk past them to get to the garbage, so i politely stop and say hello. he offers me a handshake-hand. obviously he was not paying attention to that body part, otherwise he'd know that both my hands are full of empty plate and cup. no handshake.
"pirates mean a lot to me. i have a jolly roger tattooed on my back, it was done by pirates..." (i'm nodding and smiling) "they saved my life out at sea, and if i wanted to live i had to become one of them; it was either branding or a slit throat." (nice, right, sure...but what if he's serious? do pirates actually sail the seas today?")
his friends shake their heads with that, my-friend-is-so-embarrassing-does-he-really-think-this-is- charming-look. so i realize it's all just to make conversation, to engage me in some way. well, it was really working.
"we've met before, right?"
"umm, i don't think so."
"i know you from somewhere...how long have you been coming here?"
"around four years...off and on"
"this is really weird, i'm sure i know you. hmm...what's your story? where'd you go to school?" "westmont...started in two-thousand."
"i graduated by then, that couldn't be it."
i figure he'll drop it at this point, notice i was still balancing the trash in my hands, and let me leave just as politely as i could. of course it wouldn't be that easy. he introduces me to his friends, two of which i already met once before. by now i'm feeling pretty desperate. i mean, i'm standing above 4 guys sitting cross-legged, all smiling up at me. (i feel like a momma bird that should vomit up her dinner and carefully divvy out the mush in each of their smiling beaks.) i do my best to end the conversation enough to excuse myself to the garbage can... while my back is turned the one with the chops yells across the lawn, "you're coming back, right?"
"no, i'm going home. i have to work at four tomorrow morning."
"oh, where do you work?"
"starbucks" i say as quietly as i can.
"octopus?"
"no, starbucks!"
"free coffee!"
"riiiight"
"maybe that's how i know you"
"yeah, maybe"
this episode confirms the hypothesis...
talking about pirates does not garuntee booty of any sort, not at church picnics, not anywhere