The art of the random pick-up

When you think about it, the casual pick-up is usually a long shot. Someone spots you in the supermarket and does the bananas-facing-up in the trolley thing (did ANYONE ever try that?), zeroes in on you at the bar or tries to start a conversation by the barbell station at the gym. If these out-of-the-blue pick-up merchants come off as a little creepy, you generally leg it as far away from them as you can, stat.
I, however, have always attracted another type; the one who cuts to the chase by asking if I would be interested in a) getting married and b) having children immediately. In Morocco and Nepal I put these frequent proposals down to my childbearing hips and the folly of spending hours on buses full of men – until it happened again this morning, when I stopped in at the local petrol station to refuel my super mobile. Unbrushed hair, no make-up and a pair of shapeless tracksuit pants ensured I was not looking my best. And in the interests of discouraging conversation with anyone whatsoever, I’d completed my bag lady look with a red t-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘Do I look like I care?’ across the top.
The young man behind the counter, who’d obviously failed to complete his Dating 101 TAFE course, missed the point entirely.
‘You look so very lovely in that t-shirt,’ he said.
My creep alert clicked into gear.
‘You look like you do care. You look like the kind of girl who REALLY cares, you know?’ he continued, smiling brightly and swiping my credit card at the same time.
‘Oh, ha ha, no not really,’ I stuttered.
‘Are you married? You have children?’ he asked. ‘Because I would like to get married. If you are single, perhaps we could.... oh, your credit card has been declined.’
Saved by the credit card gods. For a minute at least. Once the counter Casanova swiped a new card, he shamelessly continued his seduction routine, ignoring other customers entirely. They, of course, began listening with great interest.
‘So, no children? You should, although you are just bee-yoo-ti-ful as you are,’ he crooned, while handing me a pen and the credit card slip.
He then smiled at me in a way that left nothing to the imagination.
‘I would like to have children very soon and I am looking for a wife,’ he announced finally (and loudly).
As I legged it out the swinging door, card in hand, face flaming, he yelled, ‘You could help me with that!’ No doubt he was still grinning like an idiot in the hope that I might actually come to my senses and high-jump over the counter into his waiting arms.
I think it was at that moment, or perhaps the moment where I reached the safety of my car and clocked around three drivers staring at me in amusement, that I resolved to find a new petrol station. I'm all for random flattery as much as the next girl, but this was beyond weird.
Still, it got me thinking. Does the random pick-up ever work? Has it worked for you? Have you ever had a petrol station attendant try to pick you up? Tell all, people...