mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Buzz Kill Saturday night I met up with RDG , Dishery , R (name withheld because I've never asked her permission to print it) and R's pal from who was visiting from Santa Barbara. Drinks were had and conversation ensued. R's friend discussed how she "manifested" a man through positive thought. Her philosophy was interesting in that I am such a surface person and have very little contact with the intuitive. As a matter of fact, I'm as surface as Mike Tyson is crazy. I totally lack a metaphysical side. I'm going somewhere with this I swear - bare with me. I was feeling great. I was wearing my new, Persian lamb suit (once again the picture isn't just for kudos and applause - it will come into play) some cute, patterned tights, and I was carrying my grandmothers 1950's Bakelite bag (which she was nice enough to give me last time I visited). So yeah, I was walking tall. I had decided earlier in the day to skip the show we had originally planned to see at the Croc and just join the girls for drinks beforehand. My ear was buzzing already and I have a flight at the end of the week. I didn't want to inflame my ear drums and be uncomfortable for the twelve or thirteen hours it takes to get to Milan. Anyway, we're sipping beers and sharing a Clove (amongst four people) and all of a sudden it's almost midnight. The girls need to go to catch Number 13 Baby and I really need to get home as Sunday looks to be a whirlwind of activity. I approach the bar to close out my tab and saddle up at the first available space. The bar isn't packed but there's a decent amount of activity. I get the attention of the bartender and ask for my check. I notice a round man in his forties sitting next to me. He's wearing a scali cap, workman's pants and some sort of flannel shirt. I accidentally make eye contact and smile briefly as I wait for my credit card slip. He leans over and says something I can't really hear. "What," I ask. "How about I give you $20.00 for a blow job?" In my mind the music stopped. For a moment I couldn't believe this was happening. Did this guy actually just offer me money for a blow job? I mean, here I am with a group of women, in a not very divey bar (it's in the trendy part of Belltown ferchrissakes), dressed to the nines, and paying for my beers with a credit card. How could this moron even ask me a question like that???!!! What would possess someone to do that? "No." That was the best response I had. My breathing quickened and I felt like shit all of a sudden. Nothing witty sprang to mind. I didn't even have the wherewithal to spit in this assholes face. I looked down at my pretty suit and Mary Janes. I didn't mean to do it but I was actually evaluating my outfit to see if there was something risqué about it. What the hell?!! My credit slip came. I signed it quickly and turned to RDG and told her what happened. We headed out of the bar. RDG tried to comfort me with the fact that he probably propositioned me because I looked so good. It was a sweet try at diverting my anger but come on, the guy offered me $20.00 not $1000.00! Fuck, whatever happened to asking a girl to join you for a drink before making with the come-ons? As I headed to my car, my heart rate quickened. You see, in that one minute, that one stupid exchange ruined my whole night. A million "I-should-haves" came to mind. And on the drive home I thought about nothing else. I was steamed. I told Pete as soon as I walked through the door and then I sat awake thinking about it some more. I couldn't for the life of me figure out just why I was so angry. I mean yes, this guy said a nasty thing to me but it's not like I haven't had men say nasty things to me before. Hell, New York is Cat Call City. Just walking down the wrong street in blue jeans and a T-shirt will get you an "aye mommy, mira mira." And I can't tell you how many times I've sat down in a bar and had a drink with a guy only to find out that his main goal was to get laid. But these incidents seemed almost respectful by comparison. Then it hit me. Ever since I've lived in Seattle I've made a real concerted effort to be friendly. I make eye contact with complete strangers and smile. If I see you around a bunch, I'm apt introduce myself just so we can be on a first name basis. I have long conversations with the doorman at work about vintage clothes. I talk to my bank teller about her kids whom I've never met. I offer the mailman a glass of water if he's looking peaked. You see, when you grow up in a city like NY, you're told don't talk to people you don't know. I can remember being taught in school to stay away from men in cars because they'd ask you directions and when you came close they'd snatch you up and do horrible things to you. I had my Halloween candy sorted through by my grandmother because the world is full of psychos who inject candies with cyanide. Anyway, that type of behavior, the stare-at-the-ground-and-look-otherwise-occupied-but-alert demeanor, always upset me. When I moved here I decided to take a chance and think the best of people. For the most part, that attitude has really worked for me. I've made wonderful friends and been invited to interesting events and just had all-around good experiences and with that one stupid gesture, that fat, ugly man with his roly-poly pig fingers threatened my whole philosophy and made me feel incredibly vulnerable. I feel a bit better today. I'm still angry but I can rationalize that this man probably did that to ten other women that night. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can soothe myself with the knowledge that one day he's going to talk to the wrong girl and she'll have better instincts than I do and mace him. I can even fantasize that this loser stumbled out into the streets an hour later and was hit by a truck. Nonetheless, I can't get over the feeling that if I just hadn't made eye contact I would not have to be rehashing this right now. Grrr. 8:38 a.m. - 2003-03-03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
