Thursday, September 08, 2005

I have 16 minutes so this'll be quick.

John is out to dinner with a former professor. They offered to let me join, but it would be a night of recollecting places I've never been to, people I don't know, and situations at which I was not present. So I passed in order to have a quieter evening by myself.

And so I ventured forth to find a nice little pub or restaurant where I could get a beer and a burger.

And I did, a large pub named the 12 Pins (or something) named such, I imagine, for the bowling alley/dance club (yeah, explain that one to me) that was situated nearby and likely had a fair amount of crossover traffic. Do you read Get Fuzzy, the comic strip? Do you remember when Satchel had his dog convention and then Bucky walked in accidentally and his tail poofed out and he said something akin to "Okay, no trouble. You guys just keep doing your doggy thing and I'll back out of here"? That's how I felt when I walked into the pub.

I was the only. woman. there. Except the bartenders. Bu man alive, I thought maybe I'd inadvertently walked into some kind of all-male club or gay pub. Hiding my terror at maybe having done something dumb (like missed a giant ALL MEN sign) I sat at the bar and ordered a burger and Guinness.

A few minutes in Rory came and sat next to me. Asked twice if the cricket match was on. I said I didn't know. And I smiled as I watched him out of the corner of my eye, trying to think of something to say. Finally he asked me where I was from, which began a grand conversation consisting of these points, from his POV:

1. You just got in yesterday?
2. Philadelphia. Is that a state? I should go to America!
3. I'm a carpenter and cut my finger today.
4. I'm a little drunk.
5. I'm not chatting you up.
6. This pub is disgusting, let me take you somewhere else.
7. But I'm not chatting you up.
8. When did you get in? Yesterday?
9. Do you want my phone number? Do you have a mobile? I'm not chatting you up, I mean in case you want to go have a drink.
10. I'm chatting you up.

He was kind and non-threatening, so we chatted a bit. Toward the end of his beer (he'd been drinking since noon, which was not long after he cut his finger) he was even more drunk, and had commenced putting his hand on my arm to make the occasional point. When he left he gave me his number, kissed my cheek, and staggered off.

I realized as I was talking to him that I could've told him anything. And I think next time I will. Meanwhile I have three minutes and I don't want to lose this post so ZOOM!

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