I try my best to mind my own business. After all, it shouldn’t be too difficult doing that. If ever in doubt, just run down the internal monologue checklist when an issue arises to ensure this happens:
Step 1: Keep your mouth shut.
Step 2: Keep it shut.
Step 3: Wow, that was tempting, maybe I should speak up… no I’m resolute.
Step 4: Don’t make eye contact.
Step 5: Was that a camera flash?
Step 6: Woops, I looked.
Step 7: Wait, did he just wink at me?
Let me explain.
It all started off as an innocent evening of music going. I was out to watch two of my many favorite local talents, Yeah, Brother, and Danny Maika. At the conclusion of Yeah, Brother’s set at McClain’s Coffeehouse, I rendezvoused with two friends of mine, Max (who plays Banjo in the group Yeah, Brother) and his lovely girlfriend, Taryn, for an evening of minimalist debauchery at another local haunt of mine, The Pint House in downtown Fullerton a few blocks away.
Now, Taryn, Max, and I arrived just in time to catch Danny’s set. Having my heart set on getting a little heady, I ordered a few pints of Guinness, and if I were to measure my progress in getting pissed by glasses consumed, I was somewhere around 3 or 4 before my interesting predicament occurred. It all started with a note:
“So, whatcha drinkin’?”
The note was passed along to me from a young lady I am an acquaintance of, sitting at the table next to us. Now, for the record, Brittany was not the author of the note; she was just the messenger. In fact, the penman was a dude next to her whom I had made eye contact with briefly and gave a friendly smile (mistake #1 for those of you who may be keeping count).
Now, that evening, I was running under the assumption that everyone at the neighboring table are friends of one another. Since I knew a couple of people in their group, and I was bouncing back and forth talking with various individuals seated there, I didn’t think much on the note I received, and cordially replied verbally to the written inquiry by saying to the gentleman out loud, “Guinness” (mistake #2). I resumed my conversation with Taryn and Max, enjoyed listening to Danny Maika, and went on with my evening as planned.
As fate would have it, when our waitress magically appears at the table again with another round of drinks for Max and Taryn, she also happens to have a pint of Guinness that I didn’t order. I was perplexed and pointed out that I didn’t order this drink, to which she replies, “Yes, I know. He ordered it for you,” pointing to the author of the note; he waves. Decision time:
a.) Do I accept the beer from the stranger at the table next to me?
b.) Do I refuse the beer?
I’m not one for being rude or un-cordial, so I accepted the beer and enjoyed it (mistake #3). By doing so, perhaps I implied any number of things to the gentleman that bought me the beer:
1. My cordial smile and head nod when we made eye contact earlier in the evening meant something more than “hello.”
2. Like the Skittles ads, I taste the rainbow.
Unfortunately for him (and awkwardly for me), neither of these are true, however, at this point, it was too late. I spent roughly the next 45 minutes avoiding his heavy drunken gaze and continued efforts to flirt from 10 feet away. These included awkward long stares that I couldn’t help but notice from my peripheral as he tried in vain to initiate a visual exchange by persistently snapping photographs of me with a bright flash; he then would follow this with several stares or gestures that made Taryn laugh hysterically next to me. At this point, I had already been taking flack from her considering my acceptance of the free drink and my explanation that I think it carried intentions beyond getting me drunk.
At the conclusion of Danny’s set, my drunken admirer invited himself over for a friendly chat, in which case, I stuck around for a minute or two, and then excused myself to go use the restroom. Upon my arrival back, I catch the tail end of Max, Taryn’s, and my not-so-secret admirer’s conversation about him being an Interscope Records recording artist who was dropped from his label because his music was “too dark.” I thanked him for the beer, after which he replied, “my pleasure” with a hint of facial grimace, and then he left.
Joey, if you ever end up reading this, I mean no offense and found your advances flattering (sort of), however, I prefer to keep the company of a woman. I can’t help it and hope you understand. Please don’t take offense, and thank you for the Guinness; it was cold, delicious, my favorite, and I appreciated the gesture. If I can carry anything home from this story, I think it’s cool that we (as human beings with feelings and passion) are progressively moving towards a world where one man can hit on another in an open public space and the worst thing that happens is a blog. My hat goes off to you Joey (and I mean that with the most respect possible); you know who you are and you are proud of it! I wish more people could truly say that about themselves.
So, until the next time I get hit-on by a man, or until I find something else to write about, this is Mike Vitale saying, salutations, and thank you for reading.
- Mike
