On Saturday night, Miles and I decided to paint the town red, or at least a deep shade of pink. We had a tasty dinner at Rodan and then moved on to the Rainbo. I hadn't been there since... February? Although they were playing some great music, we didn't stay long before moving on to Zakopane. Zakopane is neither hip nor glamorous; it has bikini-clad women on beer advertisements and a pool table and a television hanging in the corner. It's the kind of place that has regulars who've probably saddled up to the bar for years.
So Miles and I were discussing plans for our yet-to-be-named emo hardcore band, when the fiftysomething man next to us announced, "I'm going to buy you both a drink!" He had a slightly ruddy face, sad eyes, and about 40 extra pounds. Both Miles and I were shaken, I think, by this man's enthusiasm for buying us drinks. I pushed away his words with the sort of politeness that you use when a lonely, drunk stranger is trying to connect. I mean, I don't want to be rude; I just didn't want him to buy me a drink. Miles, however, was game. He's a brave man like that. "HEYYYY! DRINKS!" roared the man, slamming his empty glass on the formica countertop.
The bartender poured beers and whiskey shots, and the men drank them. Miles took his shot quietly, while the man sipped his before unleashing a hearty and impressively insane HAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Then the man told Miles and me that we made a lovely couple, really interesting-looking, a lovely couple, out on the town, really nice. We didn't correct him on the nuances of our long and platonic friendship, because it really didn't matter.
Then Miles abandoned me for the WC! And I was left alone with our new friend, who by that point had become pretty drunk. He was a bit wobbly, and he slurred unintelligibles at me while looking at my thighs. "Youra stunner," he mumbled, leaning in a little bit. "Eezzz bizzz." I began to feel rather nervous. Miles returned, my knight in girls' Levis. "Youraaa lovely, good-lookin COUPLE," he continued. "Srrrorfle bwahtzzz," which I interpreted to mean something about our supposed sex life.
The thing is, Miles and I don't have a sex life. We never have. It was time to set the record straight with this man. "Oh! Well! Miles and I, we are friends. We've been friends for almost ten years," I chirped, like I was a recruiter for some touchy-feely Care Bears cult. Miles and I felt old for a moment, and then the poor drunk man's face deflated. He became relatively quiet for a few moments, and then he hurriedly stumbled outside without a word of goodbye.
In unrelated news, I am looking for a job in writing, producing, editing. Print or web, either way. If you know of anything, please let me know. Thank you!
So Miles and I were discussing plans for our yet-to-be-named emo hardcore band, when the fiftysomething man next to us announced, "I'm going to buy you both a drink!" He had a slightly ruddy face, sad eyes, and about 40 extra pounds. Both Miles and I were shaken, I think, by this man's enthusiasm for buying us drinks. I pushed away his words with the sort of politeness that you use when a lonely, drunk stranger is trying to connect. I mean, I don't want to be rude; I just didn't want him to buy me a drink. Miles, however, was game. He's a brave man like that. "HEYYYY! DRINKS!" roared the man, slamming his empty glass on the formica countertop.
The bartender poured beers and whiskey shots, and the men drank them. Miles took his shot quietly, while the man sipped his before unleashing a hearty and impressively insane HAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Then the man told Miles and me that we made a lovely couple, really interesting-looking, a lovely couple, out on the town, really nice. We didn't correct him on the nuances of our long and platonic friendship, because it really didn't matter.
Then Miles abandoned me for the WC! And I was left alone with our new friend, who by that point had become pretty drunk. He was a bit wobbly, and he slurred unintelligibles at me while looking at my thighs. "Youra stunner," he mumbled, leaning in a little bit. "Eezzz bizzz." I began to feel rather nervous. Miles returned, my knight in girls' Levis. "Youraaa lovely, good-lookin COUPLE," he continued. "Srrrorfle bwahtzzz," which I interpreted to mean something about our supposed sex life.
The thing is, Miles and I don't have a sex life. We never have. It was time to set the record straight with this man. "Oh! Well! Miles and I, we are friends. We've been friends for almost ten years," I chirped, like I was a recruiter for some touchy-feely Care Bears cult. Miles and I felt old for a moment, and then the poor drunk man's face deflated. He became relatively quiet for a few moments, and then he hurriedly stumbled outside without a word of goodbye.
In unrelated news, I am looking for a job in writing, producing, editing. Print or web, either way. If you know of anything, please let me know. Thank you!
Labels: chicago
0 Responses to “zakopane”
Post a Comment