Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Can't You Feel 'Em Circling, Honey?
I made it home last night from a two-day biz excursion to San Diego. Had a nice time, picked up some good pointers, and visited with some of the top people in my field.
And drank, of course.
I've closed bars before, but never two in one night. The hotel bar shut down Monday night about 11:30, so we headed down the street to some C&W-looking joint, and ended up closing that one as well. When we arrived, a couple of our folks hedged on going in. It seems there were several dudes out front dressed in a way that might lead one to think we had just stumbled on to a gay bar. Now, I accidentally wandered into a gay bar in Key West a few years ago, and even danced. Those guys really know how to dress, and I didn't get groped or anything, so I have no problem with gay bars. My good friend Cheap Bastard was there and can vouch for my behavior. He was watching through an open window, having politely declined to enter.
But I digress. I got everybody chilled out and into the bar, which wasn't a gay bar after all, but the venue for a dodgeball tournament. It turns out that some dodgeball players' attire closely resembles that of the stranger denizens of a gay bar.
So, we picked sides and started cheering for whoever happened to be out there, and let me tell you, these guys really took their dodgeball seriously. A single match tended to last only mere seconds, and a new one began, so the action was brisk. In time, the least gay-bar looking team out there won the tournament and raised what was a pretty nice trophy high overhead.
Once the tournament was over, the Land Sharks started looking for something else upon which to focus their attention. You know these guys. They hang out in local bars, and feed right after dark. They began circling The Bait, a very attractive member of our group from Las Vegas, even though she sported a nice rock on her left ring finger. Knowing I was going to have to be the Quint in this little land shark vignette,I immediately wedged myself in between Land Shark One and The Bait. Land Shark Two almost immediately moved away. Land Shark One looked at me like he'd just taken an involuntary dump in his Dodgeball get-up.
"Dude! I'm SO sorry. I was hitting on your wife!"
I sensed immediately that I owned the situation, so I nonchalantly sipped my beer.
Well, who wouldn't? look at her.
"Man, I'm really, really sorry. I would totally understand if you wanted to kick my ass right now."
I don't think there's any need for that. It's an honest mistake. Am I right?
"Yeah, Dude. Totally. You are like the luckiest man in the world!"
By this time, The Bait was clutching my arm and smiling at the remaining Land Shark, who slowly swam away. Turns out that, as soon as she saw me coming her way, she had told both Land Sharks "here comes my husband." Her husband was actually in bed asleep in Las Vegas. Never mind I was 25 years older than either of these guys, I don't look as old or as fat as I really am. It probably didn't hurt that I was wearing my AZPHC jacket that has Crime Dog stitched over the breast, either. It's an innocuous nickname to all who know me, but I'm guessing it could carry a different meaning to a stranger. Especially to a Land Shark, who I just caught hitting on "my wife." And even more especially to one that looks like an accountant, dresses like an Aunt Jemima impersonator, and just got his ass kicked in a dodgeball tournament by some guys that looked like The Village People.
The Bait and I spent the remainder of the business conference calling one another "honey."
Anyway, It's good to be home again. And to all my friends of the "gentler" sex (if you don't like that term, then it does not apply to you. It is hereby withdrawn), have a Happy Valentine's Day!
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And drank, of course.
I've closed bars before, but never two in one night. The hotel bar shut down Monday night about 11:30, so we headed down the street to some C&W-looking joint, and ended up closing that one as well. When we arrived, a couple of our folks hedged on going in. It seems there were several dudes out front dressed in a way that might lead one to think we had just stumbled on to a gay bar. Now, I accidentally wandered into a gay bar in Key West a few years ago, and even danced. Those guys really know how to dress, and I didn't get groped or anything, so I have no problem with gay bars. My good friend Cheap Bastard was there and can vouch for my behavior. He was watching through an open window, having politely declined to enter.
But I digress. I got everybody chilled out and into the bar, which wasn't a gay bar after all, but the venue for a dodgeball tournament. It turns out that some dodgeball players' attire closely resembles that of the stranger denizens of a gay bar.
So, we picked sides and started cheering for whoever happened to be out there, and let me tell you, these guys really took their dodgeball seriously. A single match tended to last only mere seconds, and a new one began, so the action was brisk. In time, the least gay-bar looking team out there won the tournament and raised what was a pretty nice trophy high overhead.
Once the tournament was over, the Land Sharks started looking for something else upon which to focus their attention. You know these guys. They hang out in local bars, and feed right after dark. They began circling The Bait, a very attractive member of our group from Las Vegas, even though she sported a nice rock on her left ring finger. Knowing I was going to have to be the Quint in this little land shark vignette,I immediately wedged myself in between Land Shark One and The Bait. Land Shark Two almost immediately moved away. Land Shark One looked at me like he'd just taken an involuntary dump in his Dodgeball get-up.
"Dude! I'm SO sorry. I was hitting on your wife!"
I sensed immediately that I owned the situation, so I nonchalantly sipped my beer.
Well, who wouldn't? look at her.
"Man, I'm really, really sorry. I would totally understand if you wanted to kick my ass right now."
I don't think there's any need for that. It's an honest mistake. Am I right?
"Yeah, Dude. Totally. You are like the luckiest man in the world!"
By this time, The Bait was clutching my arm and smiling at the remaining Land Shark, who slowly swam away. Turns out that, as soon as she saw me coming her way, she had told both Land Sharks "here comes my husband." Her husband was actually in bed asleep in Las Vegas. Never mind I was 25 years older than either of these guys, I don't look as old or as fat as I really am. It probably didn't hurt that I was wearing my AZPHC jacket that has Crime Dog stitched over the breast, either. It's an innocuous nickname to all who know me, but I'm guessing it could carry a different meaning to a stranger. Especially to a Land Shark, who I just caught hitting on "my wife." And even more especially to one that looks like an accountant, dresses like an Aunt Jemima impersonator, and just got his ass kicked in a dodgeball tournament by some guys that looked like The Village People.
The Bait and I spent the remainder of the business conference calling one another "honey."
Anyway, It's good to be home again. And to all my friends of the "gentler" sex (if you don't like that term, then it does not apply to you. It is hereby withdrawn), have a Happy Valentine's Day!
