19 August 2011

Blue Balls and Beers

Last Friday I was out in the suburbs for a happy hour fundraiser at a place I make it a point to avoid but my friend is a cancer survivor and there is no excuse not to support such an important cause. I should preface that I grew up not too far from this bar and a lot of beauty school drop outs from yesteryear still hang out there; it’s rather sad. It is also the only bar across from the college campus in that area and there are few things in life more annoying than insecure faux prissy college kids thinking their shit doesn’t stink because they are only paying $2 for a beer – hate to break it to them, it’s not some sort of discount for them being ‘so incredibly awesome’ it’s the price charged to every customer.

I walk up to the door and I get carded, okay I know I don’t go here often but I am 32 and still in a dress from work, which is more than I can say for the other clientele looking like they had been there since the previous Tuesday. I am told to take this getting carded as a compliment and sometimes that works but this guy was not a member of the Queen’s Guard – just some dipshit who’s GED got lost in the mail along with his ‘approachable personality’ card rendering him to a life of checking IDs in the parking lot of a townie bar.

Now that I have been granted admission to the Sandtrappe, (more like quicksand sucking losers in and keeping them there for the duration of their liver functionality and unemployment check) I digress… I make my way past an ocean of white sneakers, worn out loafers being rocked with near knee high socks, faded graphic tee’s that are just that old and not retro, high school drop outs from around my graduation year, etc. I get to the staircase and go upstairs. At this point, I am thanking my lucky stars we are in a private room for the event and that I had friends coming. I texted each one of them giving them a heads up of what they could expect to be dealing with as they fought the good fight to get upstairs.

After I say my hello’s to the guest of honor and make my donation, I go over to the bar to get a beer and start chit chatting with the bartender whom I have known from a previous life – my teenage years. He was doing as well as could be for still being a local boy, had a few kids (each child’s name tattooed on his arm) with a few different people but was finally living on his own picking up shifts as often as possible for child support purposes and was really hopeful for an ever after with this ‘babe he met on plentyoffish.com’ because she’s just so different and gets him on a really deep level. I can see two guys off to the left looking like they wanted to jump into the conversation, one to captivate my attention the other to wing man himself a few free shots from his buddy. I was hoping that because of the nature of this event, I wouldn’t have to bring my asshole repellant and just be able to enjoy a few drinks for the cause – such was not the case.

I find myself forced into conversation with Kevin, 12 years my senior and ‘eagerly awaiting to make use of that Viagra he popped before he got to the bar if I knew what he meant.’ For some reason, something about him just sends off that ‘buyer beware’ warning in my head - shocking. He offered to buy me a drink, um buddy we have an open bar for 4 hours as part of the fundraiser so no and really?! My friends were running late so I keep up this game of chit chat with Kevin and Wingman Bob. I asked a LOT of questions because why not, clearly I needed to provide my own entertainment in this situation and I knew I was leaving alone but Kevin didn’t realize that yet. I start my barrage of get to know your fellow bar stool dipshit and Kevin starts giving me the generic run down of his life. I ask the same questions in a different way after he throws back a few more drinks, 3 beers to my 1 to be exact for three rounds, since some of what he said was rather conflicting. As his story changed, Wingman Bob was nudging him and trying to speak for him and Kevin informs me that he’s just ‘speaking in fantasy.’ Wait, what? Did you just say ‘speaking in fantasy?!’ wow – I have been single for a long time now but I have never heard that line of bullshit before when caught in a web of lies. Do they make a Rosetta Stone for that?

My friends finally show up, we start introductions and small talk and finally get a table that just opened up on the other side of the room, a perfect opportunity to migrate away from Viagra man. However, just when I think I finally am free of Kevin, he comes back over because he wants to write my phone number down and take me to the Olive Garden the following weekend. Who writes numbers down anymore and why would he think I’d break delicious breadsticks with him? More importantly, what makes him think I’m going to give him my digits? He starts to empty his pocket on our table because he swears he has something to write with. I was just praying it wasn’t some horrible joke about a protrusion in his pocket and being happy to see me lol, although with the amount of cheep beer he was drinking at warped speed, not even his blue happy pill, super glue, duct tape and a 2x4 would help his business stand at attention. I wave Wingman Bob over to help his friend who was quickly becoming his own charity case but not before Kevin gets a handful of pocket contents in his hand and dumps them out in front of me. In his pocket were his cell phone, some change and his wedding band – I guess he couldn’t try to put my number in his phone in case wifey checked it. I pick up his wedding band and look at it, it was inscribed with a notion of happiness and love forever. I hand it back to Kevin and told him that I was about to speak in fantasy so listen up. I told him that my fantasy was living in a world where commitments stood for something to those who believe in them and a girl could just go to a bar with her friends for a night supporting a friend and not deal with a drunken asshole who doesn’t realize he should be so lucky anyone would sign up for a tour of duty that continues for any part of ever after with him. Until that fantasy comes true, I’ll keep fighting the good fight and holding out hope that his daughter doesn’t grow up to date or marry someone like him. Kevin didn’t have a rebuttal and Wingman Bob escorted him back to the other side of the room. Shortly after this interaction, the guys started doing car bomb after car bomb – because you know, that’s the answer to everything and I’m sure his wifey had to come and pick his drunk ass up because there was no way either could operate a car at that point. I headed back to the safety of the city where ‘those guys’ usually remember to leave the wedding band at home before trying to line up an evening of Viagra fueled sexcapades.

It’s nearly the weekend again which presents a brand new blank canvas for intended girls nights out with a side of unexpected drunk guy interaction splatter paint to come between my cocktail and I – bring it weekend, I’m ready for you! Hopefully this will be a ‘fantasy free’ weekend for me unless I can finally run into the hot guy I keep seeing around town and coerce him into coming home with me to see that I’m not hiding a wedding band on my nightstand so he can throw his pants on it ;-)

Point of the conversation: When you go out to support a charity and end up being spoken to in fantasy and car bombs, it’s okay to show your support by pledging your donation online next time.

- Scarlett

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