CRIKEY! The craziest things keeps happening to me…WHY?!? Just last night (Tuesday), after a small stint at Otto’s Shrunken Head for Father Vincent’s Dark Water, I sauntered up to my local neighborhood bar, the Blue Room, to say hello to a few non-Goth friends, including the Manager/Bartender, Bob, who is undergoing chemotherapy, and call it an early night. Actually, another one of these friends was M.C.ing a karaoke night there which was always very painful to hear due to drunken idiots who think that they sound like a top-grade singer when belting out a Guns ‘n Roses tune.
I sit down at my usual stool at the end of the bar and quietly sip on my habitual glass of white wine with a glass of ice on the side, while jotting down a few words in my notebook. Hogging the karaoke was this English “bloke” that was rather dweebish and definitely drunk. I paid no mind to any of it. Soon enough my friend wrapped up the karaoke session at about 1:15AM. Whew! But, sure enough, a moment later, I felt this drunk guy’s eyeballs pointing my way. Oh Crap, I thought to myself, he’s going to want to talk to me, isn’t he? Just as he tried to sit down on the stool next to me, I got up and headed to the bathroom to avoid any conversation with this Elvis Costello looking idiot.
As I exited the bathroom, this guy then asks me if I want to play a game of pool with him. “Uh…no, I don’t play pool,” I stated to avoid, yet again, any conversation with this fool and walked off to regain my stool and glass of wine at the head of the bar. The next thing I know this guy sits next to me again! I had to double-check that I didn’t wander into a gay bar by mistake, but nope, same ol’ Blue Room (maybe the name threw him for a loop). Suddenly, I am having the following surreal interaction with this guy that went exactly like this (he starts):
“Let me ask you an obvious question,” he says. Now, I’m thinking he is going to ask me if I was a Vampire, a devil worshipper, in a cult…you know the usual nonsense. No.
“What question,” I ask naively.
“How much do you charge?”
“How much do I…huh?” I exclaim. “Charge for what?”
“You will probably think I am a fucking idiot for asking…”
I quickly return, “Yes, I do think you are a fucking idiot,” but I press on, “but how much I charge for what?”
He blushes a bit, I scowl, he continues, “You know. How much do you charge?”
WTF?!?!?!?! “Charge FOR WHAT?!?!?!” I yell. Now in my mind I’m having a debate with myself. Should I just crack my fist across this guy’s face (the manly, bar-room brawly way) and possibly get the cops involved — there was a squad car parked directly across the street — and possibly be charged with assault, not to mention possibly breaking a nail (LOL!)? Should I simply walk away? Should I tell this guy to “bugger off” (which what he was possibly looking for in the first place)? Or what?
At that point, Bob, the Manager/Bartender, sensing a commotion at the end of the bar, instructs this “bugger” to move to the opposite end of the bar by stating, “He doesn’t want to talk to you, buddy! C’mon! Go to your beer at the other end!”
This guy turns to me, sways a bit and asks me, “You don’t want to talk to me?”
“FUCK NO!” is what I responded in an instant. All eyes are on this scene now. Then, after taking the biggest hint known to mankind, he moved down to the other end of the bar, and thus leaving me alone to ridicule the entire situation with my group of friends. Bonus: Within the next 20 minutes finishing a sloppy game of pool, this idiot was promptly thrown out of the establishment for being…well…a fucking annoying freak!!!
And, of course, he tries to protest and attempts to come back in for one last beer. “GET OUT!!!!” we all scream at him. It always amazes me how when every time some really shitfaced guy gets thrown out of a bar, any bar, they fight tooth and nail to get back in, as if it is the only bar in town! Why would you want to go back into a place where everyone thinks you’re an absolute tool for further humiliation? I Just don’t get it!
Back to the issue at hand: Let me get one thing straight with everyone right now: often, due to the length of my hair, the occasional eye make-up (Guy-Liner!), my black nail polish covered claws, and meticulous fashion style, as well as my disinterest of cars, sports, and other testosterone related activities (other than acourtin’ the ladies), I do get prejudged as a homosexual…which I am not. Comedian Russell Brand says it best:
There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with being gay, and, in case you haven’t realized it yet but, the Goth culture has quite a lot in common with the Gay community, along with some overlaps from time to time. So, calling or assuming, that I am gay is not an insult to me. Point black.
BUT A GAY PROSTITUE?!?!?!?!?!?!? WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM?!?!?!?!?!!?
No comments:
Post a Comment