LittleWyvern.com

I got hit on by a gay guy the other night, and not for the first or likely last time. In all fairness to the guy it is entirely possible that my friends and I were actually in a gay bar and so his misunderstanding may well have been our fault. I’ll elaborate.

I went down into the city on Saturday night with two friends where we met up with various other people, most of whom I did not know. It was fairly awkward at first, being one in a company of ten people, nine of whom know eachother at a best friends / college roommates / we’re dating level of depth. As could be expected in such situations I found myself silently nursing a beer while passively listening to the inside jokes and confusing conversations about still other people that I didn’t know. And yet, given the proper motivation or quantity of alcohol it’s funny how quickly and inconspicuously I can transform from group outsider to the odds on favorite to end up with the girl (or in this case, with the guy, too) at night’s end.

We drank a little at one stranger’s apartment before catching a cab to another stranger’s apartment where we drank a lot more. As a personal landmark it was the first night that I have ever drank on the rooftop of a building. At any rate, this apartment building was on the top floor of an apartment building whose first floor was occupied by a random city bar. I didn’t notice at the time, but the bar’s name is Pearl, which further adds to my suspicions as to its primary clientele. After finishing all the alcohol inside the apartment we moved down to the street and into this bar, a very sketchy establishment with an entrance hidden down a small alley leading from the main street. The bar itself was empty save for a large Mexican woman serving as the bartender and a large Mexican man I assumed to be the bouncer. At the bar were two older gentlemen and a young white man, all quietly nursing their drinks. No IDs were checked as we all ordered drinks – seemingly doubling the bar’s weekly profits as estimated by the number of customers on a Saturday night. When my friend tried to be a nice guy and pay for everyone’s drinks he was told that they didn’t accept credit cards. The Diet portion of my Jack and Diet was poured from a 2-liter bottle already open on the counter. Point to be made: it was an all-around seedy location.

My friends took their drinks to a set of tables while I remained at the bar to cover the tab. Situationally aware as always, while watching the bartender pour my drink I noticed, from the corner of my eye, the young white man at the other end of the bar stand up. Leaning forwards against the bar the guy began sidestepping in my direction. I was pretty drunk at this point and found the maneuver fairly hilarious. I’m sure he was trying his best to be discreet but his actions and ultimate intentions were obvious from the start. It took him nearly a full minute to casually move the bar’s full length of ten feet to close within a distance where I could no longer pretend to not notice him. My hand now forced I pivoted my neck to face him and thus begin the second act of this tragic comedy. He smiled at me in a way that may have been flattering if we weren’t both dudes, but Providence took pity and before I was obliged to respond the bartender returned with my drink. Dropping a pile of cash onto the bar I snapped up my drink and moved quickly but casually away from the bar and over to my friends. I was later told that my friend Chris had an even more interesting experience with the guy. I didn’t see it happen but at some point while we were all chilling out / maxing / relaxing all cool the man approached Chris and interrupted the conversation he was holding with a few girls. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” the man asked Chris. Not realizing what was taking place Chris made an amateur decision and agreed to follow the guy to an isolated section of the bar. Once alone it didn’t take long for Chris to recognize and subsequently thwart the guy’s true intentions. We all laughed. Chris found it somewhat less funny.

Continuing in the spirit of awkward situations I am currently in the process of being set up with a girl I’ve never met. Within days of arriving back in Chicago I was cornered by Jenny, my sister’s friend, and invited to a Cubs game. The situation became immediately strange when I learned that my sister wasn’t going. After a few cautious refusals (as much as I would probably enjoy spending a day with the friends of my sister’s friend) it was admitted that the invitation was an attempt to hook me up with one of Jenny’s friends. My initial reaction wasn’t reluctance so much as confusion.

“You realize that I live about two thousand miles away, right?… In Las Vegas?… And that I’m going back there in a few weeks?…”

My concerns fell on deaf ears and after a few minutes I had committed to the Cubs game. It should be good times. The only person I know at the game will be Jenny, a girl that I know in only the most casual way through my sister. And beyond not knowing any of the people in the group I am handed the expectation of entertaining and enamoring a girl about whom I know only her first name. As naturally extroverted and flirtatious as I usually am around complete strangers I don’t see how this can possibly go badly.

In truth, I expect it to go well. At any rate it can’t be any more awkward than the time during my sophomore year of college where the Indian friends of one of my Indian friends tried to set me up with a girl they knew because, and I quote their reasoning, “we are both white.” That didn’t really work out, but in a strange twist of reality that girl is now dating still another one of my friends (what’s up Brian).