Dublin Airport conversation

So there I was sitting on a bench in Dublin airport minding my own business when this guy came up to me.

“How’s it goin?” he asked.

“Good,” I replied.

“So, these new airport regulations are woeful,” he said with a big smile.

“Yeah? Why the big smile then?” Disturbed, I suddenly noticed he was wearing make-up.

“Yeah, well, I’m a pretty happy guy.” He looked around before turning back to me, “You Irish?”

“I am on paper,” I replied. “My dad was born here and I’ve been living here for going on 5 years, but I’m originally from San Francisco. What about yourself – you Irish?”

“No, but I get that a lot – I guess it’s the red hair,” he chuckled and gestured at the huge afro-like mop of red hair on his head. “I’ve got a real Scottish-sounding name, but I’m from the states as well.”

He sat down next to me I began to feel uncomfortable, like I’d just eaten some bad food.

“Sooo . . . you come here much?”

“It’s an airport,” I said, edging away from him on the bench, “I come here as little as I can.”

“You should stick around, airports can be fun.” He gave me a huge wink and suddenly put his arm around me, saying in a hushed whisper, “I mean, uh, I’m in the business of showing people a good time, if you know what I mean.”

It was right about then that I got up and left.

Feckin weirdo.