Is There A Hoor In?

So... I was washing my car last wednesday. No, not doing the Liv Tyler thing... just trying to remove some of the scratches it got when some comedy genius put a traffic cone on it.

For the entertainment, I ought to do this more often.

You see, I was coming out of the tenement with my polish and my shammy and, because the bloody door is knackered AGAIN, some Bill Oddie type was making his way into the building without first being buzzed in. (NOTE: He was a Bill Oddie type because he was short, stout and bearded... NOT because he was being chased down the street by a giant kitten or anything like that). He cheerily greeted me as if he knew me. I knew what he was up to and gave him the usual nod and a raised eyebrow.

So I was polishing my car accross the road and down a bit, polish polish polish, and out of the corner of my eye I see him come out of the tenement and look up and down the street, puzzled. Hah! I thought. Either she's busy or she's out getting her nails done. Nae shag fur you pal!

So he waits there an uncomfortable amount of time and little old ladies with their shopping trollies pass and give him dirty looks and all this time he's not bothered at all and just stands in the doorway waiting for the current Hoor to come home.

Finally he gets bored and I see him crossing the street. Going towards his car. No. Not going towards his car. Ah. Coming towards me. Avoid eye contact. Polish Polish Polish. Tum tee tum. Right. He's standing behind me... isn't he?

"Scuse me!" he chirps, "Is Sharn in?" (NOTE: This would be the local pronounciation of Sharon... He wasn't looking for some sharn. Which is the local vernicular for "cowshit")

"Um?"

"Sharn. You know... Sharn. One of the lassies from the ground floor?"

"Um. I dunno. Just got home from work." Go away Bill. Godammit where are all those giant kittens when you need them!?

"So you don't know when she'll be back then? Is she out getting her shopping?"

"Um. Dunno. I just live a few floors up." Please go away now.

"Ohhhhh" he says. "So you're not... Oh! OK then. Thanks anyway!"

And off he goes.

Um. So I'm not WHAT, exactly!?

Did he think I was her maid? Did I look like I was polishing her car? Do I look like a hoor's valet? Is my car a hoor's car!? (I once saw a hoor's car in Montreal. It was bright pink and I was only 15 so I loved it. - I know it was a hoor's car because she was stretched accross the bonnet and my aunt told me it was the "working girls district")

I now have a nasty feeling of unease :(