Night on the Town
"So how old do you think I am," I asked, immediately regretting my question. He looked quizzically at me, examining my face, cocking his head from one side to the other in serious study.
I looked away laughing, but feeling suddenly self conscious. It had all started out as a joke, anyway. Martha, my co-worker turned friend, joined me and our new gay bartender friend, Chad, back at our seats at the bar.
"He's trying to decide how old I am," I said, "and I don't think I want to know what he's thinking!"
Chad turned to Martha for assistance and I heard him mutter, "28?"
I groaned and Martha laughed. "So you actually think she is a year older than me?" Martha asked, amused. Earlier he had guessed she was 27 or 28. She is actually 41.
She attempted to comfort me. "Heidi, you can't trust him. He is horrible at guessing people's ages." Her attempt was unconvincing since she was obviously enjoying the fact that Chad thought she was younger than her actually 26-year-old friend. It was too late; my night had been jilted. Despite the fact that I had inflicted this torment on myself, I wailed, "I look that much older than I am?"
Our new companion decided to milk the situation for all it was worth and continued smugly, "You just don't have the sparkle in your eyes. Look at Martha," he began, "She just has a sparkle in her eyes. You just look stressed... It makes you look older!"
"I live at home with my parents and have no responsibilities," I countered, "I have no stress! Besides," I added in my own weak defense, "I probably look tired - I just played a symphony concert!" Martha, trying her best to support me through suppressed giggles added, "I'm the one with stress! I am a single mom with tons of responsibilities!"
"Exactly," the man said, nodding more in agreement with his own analysis than with what we were saying. "You live at home with your parents, Heidi. You act stuffy; you need to loosen up. You're not living life!"
"But I did live alone," I replied defensively, "For a long time, in fact! I moved home to pay back student loans!" I was being psychoanalyzed by a very drunk bartender whom I had just met, but for some reason I felt the need to prove I wasn't a total loser to this guy.
"Look at Martha," Chad said, turning to my amused friend. "She's taking her life in her own hands. She's living life! But you," he said, pointing at me, "you tried living on your own. It didn't work, so you moved back home to mommy and daddy." This man was obviously having way too much fun riling me up and Martha and I looked at each other, laughing through dropped-jaw amazement.
"You need to loosen up," he prompted me again. "Have fun! You sit over there acting bored, like you think I'm an idiot. Have another Amstel Light!"
It didn't matter that I had just spent the last hour talking to him and laughing at his pathetic jokes. This man had dubbed me a stuffy, arrogant bar patron. Martha, still shocked by the positive analysis she was gaining from the whole conversation, said introspectively, "I'm usually the one people tell to loosen up. I'm usually the one people think is stuck up. This is good news for me!"
Quickly realizing her own good news came at my expense, she added her own touch of analysis the conversation. "But I think Heidi just looks sophisticated. She appears educated and suave. You don't see girls like her in the bars here often. It makes her look intimidating."
This analysis was also news to me, though I appreciated her attempt to make me feel better. I felt pretty unintimidating, but Chad nodded in contemplated agreement. "You're right. That could really be it," he said. Feeling satisfied he had reached a sufficient conclusion, he ordered us a round of shots to "loosen me up," which had apparently become his goal of the evening.
Later, after he had thrown back all three shots he had bought us (rejected by Martha and me since we still had to drive quite a distance home) and chased them down with another cocktail, he decided that I was satisfactorily "loosened up." He looked hard at me and said with infinite wisdom, "Now you have the sparkle in your eyes." Feeling proud of his obvious therapeutic skills, he said decisively, "See, you opened up. Now you're livin' life!"
"Oh, there's no sparkle. I have no sparkle," I muttered cynically, happy to remain in the arrogant role. Martha laughed, but Chad was already gone, off mingling with the "loose" bar girls. His mission had been accomplished with us and he was off to to enjoy the company of the less stuffy patrons of the evening. So, this is is the nightlife at home, I thought. Grrreat.
I looked away laughing, but feeling suddenly self conscious. It had all started out as a joke, anyway. Martha, my co-worker turned friend, joined me and our new gay bartender friend, Chad, back at our seats at the bar.
"He's trying to decide how old I am," I said, "and I don't think I want to know what he's thinking!"
Chad turned to Martha for assistance and I heard him mutter, "28?"
I groaned and Martha laughed. "So you actually think she is a year older than me?" Martha asked, amused. Earlier he had guessed she was 27 or 28. She is actually 41.
She attempted to comfort me. "Heidi, you can't trust him. He is horrible at guessing people's ages." Her attempt was unconvincing since she was obviously enjoying the fact that Chad thought she was younger than her actually 26-year-old friend. It was too late; my night had been jilted. Despite the fact that I had inflicted this torment on myself, I wailed, "I look that much older than I am?"
Our new companion decided to milk the situation for all it was worth and continued smugly, "You just don't have the sparkle in your eyes. Look at Martha," he began, "She just has a sparkle in her eyes. You just look stressed... It makes you look older!"
"I live at home with my parents and have no responsibilities," I countered, "I have no stress! Besides," I added in my own weak defense, "I probably look tired - I just played a symphony concert!" Martha, trying her best to support me through suppressed giggles added, "I'm the one with stress! I am a single mom with tons of responsibilities!"
"Exactly," the man said, nodding more in agreement with his own analysis than with what we were saying. "You live at home with your parents, Heidi. You act stuffy; you need to loosen up. You're not living life!"
"But I did live alone," I replied defensively, "For a long time, in fact! I moved home to pay back student loans!" I was being psychoanalyzed by a very drunk bartender whom I had just met, but for some reason I felt the need to prove I wasn't a total loser to this guy.
"Look at Martha," Chad said, turning to my amused friend. "She's taking her life in her own hands. She's living life! But you," he said, pointing at me, "you tried living on your own. It didn't work, so you moved back home to mommy and daddy." This man was obviously having way too much fun riling me up and Martha and I looked at each other, laughing through dropped-jaw amazement.
"You need to loosen up," he prompted me again. "Have fun! You sit over there acting bored, like you think I'm an idiot. Have another Amstel Light!"
It didn't matter that I had just spent the last hour talking to him and laughing at his pathetic jokes. This man had dubbed me a stuffy, arrogant bar patron. Martha, still shocked by the positive analysis she was gaining from the whole conversation, said introspectively, "I'm usually the one people tell to loosen up. I'm usually the one people think is stuck up. This is good news for me!"
Quickly realizing her own good news came at my expense, she added her own touch of analysis the conversation. "But I think Heidi just looks sophisticated. She appears educated and suave. You don't see girls like her in the bars here often. It makes her look intimidating."
This analysis was also news to me, though I appreciated her attempt to make me feel better. I felt pretty unintimidating, but Chad nodded in contemplated agreement. "You're right. That could really be it," he said. Feeling satisfied he had reached a sufficient conclusion, he ordered us a round of shots to "loosen me up," which had apparently become his goal of the evening.
Later, after he had thrown back all three shots he had bought us (rejected by Martha and me since we still had to drive quite a distance home) and chased them down with another cocktail, he decided that I was satisfactorily "loosened up." He looked hard at me and said with infinite wisdom, "Now you have the sparkle in your eyes." Feeling proud of his obvious therapeutic skills, he said decisively, "See, you opened up. Now you're livin' life!"
"Oh, there's no sparkle. I have no sparkle," I muttered cynically, happy to remain in the arrogant role. Martha laughed, but Chad was already gone, off mingling with the "loose" bar girls. His mission had been accomplished with us and he was off to to enjoy the company of the less stuffy patrons of the evening. So, this is is the nightlife at home, I thought. Grrreat.
posted by Heidi at 8:14 PM
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