When Devonnes Grown Old

At McDonald's, after ordering a drink (it's only a dollar for a fountain drink):

Devonne: Excuse me, miss. Is it okay if I ask you a question?
Me: (Pause.) Sure. (Brace myself.)
Devonne: How old are you?
Me: (Sigh of relief.) Twenty-five.
Devonne: No way. I would've thought for sure you were younger. Like a freshman. In high school.
Me: Oh, um, thanks.
Devonne: No, I mean, you're pretty. What are you? Mexican?
Me: No
Devonne: Black? White? Mixed? Eastern European?
Me: Nope. No, Nah. No. Middle Eastern. Not many guess.
Devonne: Oh, that's nice. But you real pretty. I mean, real, real pretty. You should really do something with that. You could do something with that.
Me: (Awkward laughter) Oh, thanks.
Devonne: I mean, I'm not tryin' to pick you up or anything, I'm just saying you're pretty.
Me: (Back away and make my exit.)

Items of note:

This Devonne was at least in his fifties.
He wouldn't move away from the pop dispenser, which is all I went in for.
I was still wearing my name badge that clearly states I'm a teacher.
He watched me drive up.
He still hit on me even though he thought I was a freshman in high school.

Now, I know this doesn't seem like I was hit on. But I've known many-a Devonne in my life. And believe me, it was a Devonne moment.

-Theresa