Here’s a rant for your consideration. I think what really frustrates me most about this lil story is that it’s one of those things people say would only happen to me.
Maybe they’re right.
Maybe it’s more that I’m the only one witless enough to discuss this type of situation openly.
Sure, Xtopher…let’s go with that.
The story goes, I left work “on time” one day – it was my day off – and found myself walking by my favorite lil gay watering hole.
Ok, that was a phrase that was turned in a manner that can easily be twisted…
Nevertheless, I find myself at Fox & Hounds at 3 pm on a Friday afternoon celebrating the end of my week with a beer. I’m chatting with the bartender – who works FT at PDX just like me – and the cook and one of the other regulars, who is on his way out because I have that effect on people.
I actually call it the Galby Effect.
So, he leaves and the bartender, Cookie and I have a few pass-by conversations as I throw some money at the state of Oregon and they take care of side work and I drink my beer. Not surprisingly, the state of Oregon comes out on top here, but she made it entertaining for me along the way to what ultimately resulted in a few donated shekels to Oregon’s schools and nature spaces. And now people are starting to linger. I sit down at the end of the bar next to another solo guy and for some reason we start chatting.
Me. I’m the reason. I just talk to strangers…really, you should see me in an elevator.
He introduces himself as Brian and when I ask him how he comes to be drinking at 3 pm on a Friday afternoon, he chuckles, takes a sip of his beer and says that he’s a substance abuse counselor for homeless people.
Ok, I’d drink, too. Still: irony.
We have a nice chat before he excuses himself to the loo and I’m watching him walk away thinking that it’s nice to just chat without ulterior motives. When he comes back, I notice that he’s quite the shorty and further give myself credit for having an agenda-free conversation.
I also notice he’s kind of pudgy in the middle – as am I, admittedly, but this guy I’m clocking in at about 30. We keep on chatting, each grabbing a refill as the conversation skips comfortably along. Observing that he seems pretty comfortable in the bar, I ask him if he’s a fellow regular that I just haven’t met yet, obviously because of his questionably early drinking routine. He chuckles into his beer again and I notice the sparkle in his eye as he gives me the “aw, shucks” charm and says he usually kills some time here Friday before catching the Max out to his place after work.
Your part of town being…?
Southeast. Deep southeast.
I agree with him that that’s the worst. Or maybe I just volunteer that that does sound like a bummer of a commute.
Regardless, I earn another chuckle.
It’s time for me to head out. I can’t be late for Myrtle’s evening feeding or there’s hell to pay. He thanks me for the conversation and I agree it would be nice to see him again sometime before heading home.
I don’t see him again for a couple of weeks, and after an English to gibberish conversation with one of the many homeless folks this bar attracts, the Missed Connection I post seems like a fine idea.
Self defense, almost.
Yeah, the homeless guy is yammering away at me enthusiatically as I’m posting this ad on the Craigslist.
Yeah, I’m on my third beer.
But, still, “Hey Brian, it would be nice to run into you again” is pretty innocent. Nothing like the more common Missed Connections posts I see these days about guys looking for the fella that gave them incredible head at the bath house the other night.
So, cut me some slack.
Then I wake up to a response from some guy whose email address suggests his name is Jay. He’s saying that if I live in the Old Town area we should definitely get together.
Not “together again”, just together. Naturally, I wonder – in email form – whether I had failed to correctly recall his name. All the while, I’m thinking that I might have mis-remembered his name, but not that he lives in deep SE. I write that off as me being conveniently located to his office and hit “send” anyway.
Nothing happens and I just assume this guy was, indeed, not my intended target.
But, it turns out he wasn’t done with me.
Naturally, this is me we’re talking about here.
A few weeks later, I wake up at 3 a.m. to another email from this Jay shylock. He’s suggesting we get together. I respond with my thought that he a) took his sweet time replying and, b) didn’t sound like the guy I was looking for. He responds immediately that I am correct but says his girlfriend is out of town for the holidays and he could sure use a blow job.
What a gem!
And his lucky girlfriend!
I refer him to his local bath house.