Freaking Out Girls By Meeting Them A Year Before, Going Into Gay Bars Wearing Extravagant Clothing, And Getting Pissed Off
The Great Britain Hotel has pictures of an Indian senator who signed the document that declared India independent from Britain. He’s wearing glasses, and is mostly bald. For a long time, I thought it was a picture of Chairman Mao.
Out the back, standing on the deck, it looks a lot like El Rio “Your dive!” in the Mission, San Francisco. And thanks to my workmates smoking a fat doob down the steps, it smells like it too.
When you ask for a menu at the bar, they hand you a printed and laminated copy of the pizza place across the road, and of the Thai place around the corner. I stood there eating the pizza with Travis.
“The Italians would be so disappointed,” said Travis.
“Why’s that?”
“Seafood and cheese on the one pizza.” He pointed to the prawn.
I was looking at a girl out of the corner of my eye. She’d sat down in front of me, at the table where we’d placed our pizza. She was wearing a white beret, and had a pleasant round face. She looked really familiar.
I pulled out my phone and searched: S A, for Sandra. I pressed dial.
A few seconds later, the girl in the white beret pulled her phone out of her pocket. She looked at the number, and made a puzzled face. Then she put the phone back in her pocket.
“Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” I projected.
Travis looked at me, then disappeared. “I had no idea what you were doing,” he said to me later. “But I didn’t want to stick around and find out.”
I’d met Sandra a year before. From the faces she made while I was talking to her then, perhaps I should have been surprised that the phone number was accurate. She’d ran off right after I got it.
“…I don’t answer phone numbers I don’t recognise.”
“What if it’s a really important phone call, and you just missed it?”
She looked at me blankly. Her friend smiled and said “Do you two know each other?”
“Of course I know Sandra.”
She nearly dropped her shit. I was laughing on the inside. Here I was, standing in a bright golden jacket, looking like a stranger. Then I’d called her phone and said her name. She was very confused. I was amused.
I walked off. I told Aster I’d meet him at the Perseverance at 10. Said good bye to the guys, and started walking up Church St.
It was cold so I was hopping between tram stops. One of the tram stops is outside a pub, made of bricks, painted blue. It looked warm, and I heard music coming from inside. I walked in.
Went up to the bar. “Hey mate. What do you have on tap here?”
I ordered a pot, and noticed the bartenders were both male, and were both wearing extremely tight shirts. I turned around and noticed that there were only three women in the place, and about twenty men. I also noticed a rainbow flag on the wall. I was standing in a gay bar, wearing the most flamboyant piece of clothing in my wardrobe. I chuckled to myself.
Then I sculled my beer, and left.
When I got to the Perseverance, and a fellow in the line said “Oh my God! I love your jacket!”
“Thanks dude.”
“Where did you get it!”
“I bought it at American Apparel, in San Francisco.”
“Oh, well you know what San Francisco means!”
I laughed. “It means something to you – it means something quite different to me.” I shook his hand and bid him good night.
I went inside and met up with Aster. It’s 90s night so we’re doing stupid shit like getting girls to teach us the dance to Spice Girls’ “Stop!” And getting girls to do Travolta/Newton-John moves to the Grease Megamix.
I went up to this gorgeous dark brunette on the dancefloor. Tiffany. Stacked. I’d barely said two words to her, and she was asking for my Facebook. I said I might as well get her number, so I did. Then her friend was taking pictures of us together.
Two guys came in and interrupted. The guy took Tiffany and started making out with her in front of me. She submitted. I was kind of pissed. I stared at her in disgust. She looked at me and laughed and laughed.
I said “Is that your boyfriend?”
“Yes – no, no it isn’t. Add me on Facebook!”
I walked off. Anger issues part two.
I deleted her number.
Kind of put a damper on the night after that. Which is to say, I let it get to me. It’s 90s night though. These girls are pretty much kids. I’d asked Alex~ for advice. He said to act as the babysitter. You know the kids are going to fuck up – just tell them to behave.
I cut the night short, and went home and 12:30. I pulled out my phone. I went to the call log. It still had Tiffany’s number in there. I texted to Tiffany “Hey Tiffany, I just thought you should know that you’re fucking retarded”
She texted back “Why? Put those Facebook pics up tomorrow. What’s ur name again?”
“My name is suck my cock.”
She didn’t text back after that. I went home and meditated, and called a cool girl I met a couple of weeks ago.
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Comments (4)
best.article.ever
[Reply]
Good move gettin outta that bar fast!
[Reply]
yeah, save all those bears for travis… grrr
[Reply]
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