***As a note, I’ve never written a story before. This was the only way I could deal with feeling like a jackass. There are worse ways to dealing with something really shitty I think. Carry on.***
On Saturday I left work at 10:30. I work at a clothing store and it takes some time after the store closes to actually fold the massive amounts of clothes that piggish women carelessly throw around the store throughout the day. Generally speaking, women shoppers are the most self-entitled, spoiled bitches I’ve ever come across. If there is some sort of logistical issue going on within the store – and there are many, being retail – they act as if this were some sort of personal effrontery, and find it socially acceptable to berate employees that make less money than they do, can’t defend themselves lest they be fired, and have to put up with annoying fucking assholes just like them all day.
Manager – “Sorry ma’am, our computers just froze, we’ll take care of you as soon as we can, I’m really sorry.”
Woman – “…Aghh, well….I mean…I don’t have time for this! I don’t understand what the issue is! I’m sitting here waiting…and well…I just don’t understand.” Proceeds to stamp her foot and shake her head, distraught that someone dare ruin her day.
Manager – “Well I apologize ma’am, we’re trying our best to I’m going to cover you in oil like the fatass sea-cow you look like and light you on fire.”
If I owned a company I would fire the customers. Especially the ghetto-ass people from Brooklyn that come in, steal stuff, and ask retarded fucking questions.
I left the store at 10:30, got on the train to Hoboken and met my dad when I got off. We were planning on getting a steak and having a drink. I’m already really exhausted, hot, and irritable, and not really in a talkative mood. I’m planning on going home after the drink and meal.
The kitchens aren’t open anywhere we go, so we end up at a decent bar sipping a manhattan each. During the drink, I finally loosen up and we somehow wind up in a rather intriguing discussion – the kind of discussion that actually goes somewhere, and makes you want to stay and finish the thing. And subsequently drink more. The booze takes an edge off that allows you to consider angles and perspectives that an irritable mind would deny.
Pre drink Brett – “Ugg, I’m tired and don’t feel like talking about this.”
First Drink Brett – “Look, this is where I stand on [insert issue that I’m suddenly comfortable talking about]”
Two Drink Brett – “Wait…so what you’re actually fucking saying is [insert reiteration of the concept the other person was explaining]? That’s fucking brilliant.”
A temporary bartender fills in, makes us another drink, and starts talking to us. He tells us that we “should go to O-Donohues bar down the road” and check out the live band and have a beer. It’s 12:30 now.
I’ve been out with Dad enough that by now I’m starting to accept the fact that this is probably going to end up as another long night. New experiences are fun, I can’t pass them up for fear that I’ll have “missed out on something.” Especially fun when they are on someone else’s tab.
My dad and I walk down the road smoking a couple cigarettes. I don’t smoke, but for some stupid reason I do when I end up drinking. Smoking isn’t really about the inhalation or the flavor or anything like that. I think for most people its just something to do and a good excuse to stand outside for a minute to think
We get into the bar and we order a couple decent beers and comment on the band. I find them excruciatingly painful to listen to. It’s cookie-cutter emo music. Who the fuck raves about bands like this?
My question is answered in the form of a really cute blonde girl and her friend. I’m talking with my father, and this girl keeps glancing over at me and smiling. I smile back and we have this conversation:
Brett – “Hey, what’s up?”
Blonde – “Hey do you guys like this band?”
Brett – “It’s okay. No, actually…”
Blonde – “You’d better, I’ll kick your ass [smiles and holds up fists], my brother is the singer.”
Brett – “Whatever, it’s nothing new. Who are you?”
Blonde – “I’m ‘Heather’, this is my friend [forgot her name, she looked like she had been in a tanning oven for decades]”
Brett – “Cool, nice to meet you guys.”
Pause
‘Heather’ – “Actually, we were looking for someone to buy us shots.”
Dad and I laugh.
Brett – “Okay, what kind of shots?”
Heather – “Tequila!!!”
Brett – “What kind?” I glance over at Dad. He will do the shot, but won’t go near it if it isn’t Patron or something really good.
Dad – “If I’m buying them, I’m not drinking shit tequila.”
Heather – “PATRON!!!!!”
We do the shots, the blonde girl eyes me with what I assumed was drunken lust, grabs my arm tells me to come over and watch the band and her brother sing his crybaby pussy lyrics. Dad chuckles, shakes his head, and mumbles something out loud about my being a “magnet” for girls that think I’m adorable. A lot of the times we’ve gone out, some girl or girls end up talking to me. Last time it was two 40 year olds. Awesome.
Heather and I walk over and dance to her brother’s uncreative, unoriginal, and uninteresting music. She then does what all girls should do when they’re cute and drunk and around me – she put her hands all over me. I make the assumption that we’ll be fucking later. Awesome. I can dance and pretend to like this shitty music. I’m getting fucked later!
I go back to the bar and get another beer. Dad and I chat for a bit and then he closes out his tab and tells me he’ll see me back at the apartment, if I end up there.
When he leaves, Heather comes up to me and tries to bring me outside to smoke. The bouncer gets upset with the fact that she brings her drink outside with her on the curb. She puts it down in the doorway and says “Is this okay???”
Bouncer “No. Take it inside now.”
She’s either too drunk to understand this simple request, or she’s preparing to reason something idiotic. I don’t know, but I get annoyed with this and bring her drink inside, set it down, and come back outside.
We end up talking and I find out she lives somewhere in New Jersey that is a good hour away from here. I ask her what she’s taking to get home. She’s said some train. I don’t remember. I don’t care. Fuck that train. I want to go home with her.
We go back inside and we sit down at the bar. She wants another couple of shots.
Now, I’m not fucking stupid. I know this girl wants to drink all night on some guy’s tab. She could care less whose it is. She even ADMITTED partly to this earlier in the evening.
Brett – “Ha, sure…right, okay you can fucking buy them then.”
She pouts and gives me a look like I just said something adorable. She gropes my arms and rubs her body up against mine. She totally wants to fuck me. My caving in will just seal this up. Don’t puss out now over two fucking shots dude.
Brett – “FINE, jesus…Fuck. Okay. TWO SHOTS OF PATRON!”
Heather – “With a lime.”
Brett – “Right. WITH TWO LIMES!!”
I ignored every instinct that was screaming into my addled mind that this was just another bitch looking to drink good tequila all night on some willing and easily manipulated guy’s tab.
But what about the grabbing me and groping me and her totally wanting to fuck me? Maybe this is legitimate. Maybe, just maybe…
We do the shots.
I’m so drunk by now that ten minutes goes by (she goes to the bathroom, and during that time I’ve been busy talking to her over-tanned friend and her Irish friends) without me realizing that she’s already left the bathroom, said bye to her friends, and has made her way to the door.
No bye, no thanks (at least none that I can remember). Nothing.
Just a bitch who drank for free, feigned interest in sex, and totally skillfully used my inexperience and overeager penis to fuck me over for the night.
Needless to say, nothing came of that night except a bad hangover and me silently berating myself all day for being an incompetent fucking moron.
