Tuesday night. Fat Tuesday. What's a college boy to do but go out and drink?
I don't have classes on Wednesdays, and to top it off, at the dive bar we usually go to, Captains and Coke are on special for $1.75. How could I refuse?
It was just my fag hag/fruit fly/fairy queen/add-your-own-euphemism and me. The place was not as busy as I would have thought; busy for a Tuesday, yeah, but nothing deserving of the Mardi Gras title.
We ordered our drinks at the bar, sandwiched between two large drunk girls with beads, who were insisting on showing their boobs again to acquire more. The bartenders seemed pretty bored with those boobies, and were ignoring the two girls. They were the kind of girls who wore tanktops that were too small for them, and so there was about an inch of pale flab circling their waist, in addition to their flabby arms. They gave new meaning to the phrase "Fat Tuesday." The girl on our left gave up and went back to her table. And when her massive space cleared some space at the bar, who was on the other side of the abyss?
CoolKid, that's who.
CoolKid who, after that first attempt at sex, talked to me online twice, trying to set up a second go at it, and both times stood me up, with no explanation or apology. He lost his phone and has a new phone number, and while I gave him my phone number again, I don't have his new digits.
And there he was, in a dark blue baseball cap, staring at me. Fuck. I turn my head quickly and stare at the bald dude making our drinks.
We grabbed our drinks, and make our way to a booth on the other side of the pool tables. I lean in.
"Remember that story I told you about the guy and the lube?" She's one of three people to whom I've told this story in real life.
"Yeah."
"Well, I'm pretty sure that's him at the bar, in the blue baseball cap." She turns and looks.
"Fuck."
"Yeah. Fuck."
We drank our drinks, and I listen to her whine about her boyfriend. It's just not a good situation, since he's one of my really good friends, my roommate's from last years best friend and new roommate, and she pretty much treats him like shit. No one really likes her anymore, but she doesn't catch on to the hints we give her, and everyone's kind of crossing their fingers that they break up.
The crowd started to grow around 1, to the point where I could no longer make out CoolKid at the other side of the bar. I'd noticed him starting at me occasionally throughout the night, but I decided that enough was enough, and unless it was an apology, I didn't really want to be dealing with him anymore.
I excused myself to hit the bathroom, only to find CoolKid already there, taking a leak.
There's only two urinals at this bar, right next to each other, no divider or anything. The floor is warped, and the only way to urinate and stand on solid ground is to be about four or five inches away from the porcelain, and the only way for two guys to urinate at the same time is to practically have their legs touching, one foot on top of the other. Usually if its late enough, and everyone's drunk enough, no one cares.
Unfortunately, I made the concious decision not to drink much last night, so that I wouldn't develop the drunken courage to ask CoolKid why he hasn't called.
So I walk into the bathroom, see the dark baseball cap, and freak out. I stand in the really small bathroom for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to do. I'm usually pretty good at urinal etiquette, but I don't think that taking a leak next to a drunk former hookup whom you're not speaking to is in the literature.
I didn't even stand around to wait, do the weird 'check my hair and teeth' in the mirror routine, or straighten out my clothing and stare about aimlessly, or any other of those time-wasting things that guys do when waiting for a urinal to open.
I just leave and go back to the table.
"Boy, that was quick."
"Actually, I just didn't want to piss next to lube guy." I tried to explain the protocol for urinals, but like most girls, she got it but not really.
We hightailed it out of there. I'm such a pussy.
