Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Thoughts from a girl in a bar: part 2

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Four friends arrive at a bar. We go upstairs to play pool and the first thing I notice is the debauchery of four guys next to us who were seemingly spring break wasted on a week night.

They seemed like they were partying a little hard for it being a week night but who knows, maybe it was someone’s birthday or someone got a raise at Pizza Hut?

They also seemed like an odd combination of people: there was the typical jock in his baseball jersey watching the game and going down on buffalo wings; the scenester in his white V-neck and fo-hawk; the hipster with his slouchy beanie, plaid shirt, women’s jeans and long black hair; and then there was #4. I don’t know if he was someone’s little brother, some guy they just met or actually one of their friends. He just didn’t fit.

My friend and I came to the conclusion that they probably had fourth period bio together in high school, found each other on Facebook and chose that night to meet up.
She and I go downstairs to get drinks while our other two friends stay behind (side note: our friends are guys, this is important in a moment).

There’s no one at the bar top besides a Guido with a cougar on either side of him, one wearing leather pants and the other wearing jeggings, and a homeless guy wearing a backpack.

While we’re waiting for the bartender, homeless guy flails his arms about mumbling something about how he showered that day and he won’t bother us; we can sit down and have fun as he whips his head in the opposite direction as if he has a warrant against him for talking to women.

Probably.

We sit. We Order. We Wait to pay.

I was too zoned out wondering why homeless man was laughing to himself to notice #4 had escaped his friends, wandered downstairs and started flirting with my friend.

I gear my attention away from giggles and #4 is saying something about how he wants to buy us Jaeger shots.

Clearly, he was piss drunk because he had to have seen that we were with two guys upstairs. Aka: not on the prowl. Aka, busy with friends. Doesn't that violate some kind of hitting on women code?

She’s cordial, you kind of have to be, but declines it. As do I. I don’t even think the bartender would have given him Jaeger if he asked. Probably milk and he probably wouldn’t have noticed the difference anyway.

“Yes? No? Yes? No? Going once, twice?”

Why is he doing an awkward moonwalk away from us?

He goes back upstairs.

We wait a sec then go back up.

Our friends leave to get drinks so it shouldn't have been a surprise that #4 would come sashaying back over.

It’s like he was waiting for the coast to be clear of dudes.

Here we go.

“Bad news bears.”

What on earth could he have bad news about? We just met.

He mumbles something about how the shots they bought weren’t Jaeger; they were pineapple juice, rum and some other “treat.”

I’m sorry, a treat? Like Cocaine? A roofie? Razors?
“I couldn’t finish mine if you want a taste?”

His friends are all lined against the wall like it's the dance floor at homecoming.

Wait, you couldn’t finish a shot?

“No, we’re good.”

His friends call him back over like a puppy.

Our friends come back.

We give them the look of: if you leave again, we will stab you in the throats.

They give us the look of: if you’re getting free shots ask for two extra.
We leave and go to the next bar which was a hipsters paradise.

Oddly, people were teaching each other how to dougie on a dance floor playing music that I know stands against everything Urban Outfitters believes in.
We try to get drinks but the bartender was only tending to gays, hipsters or scantily clad gay hipsters.
What the hell? I needed a mustache and black rimmed glasses that didn't have a prescription stat.

Three weeks later we get our drinks. We go outside and hang. Random’s start talking at us--at, not to--like we’re poor common folk.

I go to my impending doom of the women’s restroom.

How many vintage-wearing, unknown-band-tattoo girls does it take to get the hot water on? Three. They leave and it's like a trail of flowers follow behind.

A girl stumbles out of the stall in everything lace. It was only fitting that toilet paper was stuck to her shoe.

She curtsies as she exits. Why? I will never know. But how polite of her. It was like a movie scene.

Some guy walks through our group as we're deep in meaningful conversation (not really) and grabs my waist, lingers and gives me a look like I’m supposed to come with him, hop in his van and runaway to Florida.

Uh, no. Move along.

Night ends. As it must.

2 comments :

  1. Haha funny stuff. Something like that seems to happen to me quite regularly when I go out with friends.

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  2. cute little story. i really enjoy your style of writing, its really quite clever and very well written but in an nonchalant, understated sort of way. really like it :)

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