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Pull up a chair, Groupthink, and let me tell you about my night

So last night I (the person who rarely drinks because she doesn't really like beer or most wine and didn't have cash) went out with a small group of friends. Bar number one was an extreme sports-themed bar that was playing Jackass above the bar the entire time we were there.

Most of their non-beer drinks were colorful, and some included glowsticks. Needless to say, I was not impressed. After two friends left for a gay bar, my friend M and I went to "her bar", which was done up like an English pub and had a long wall of bookshelves and drinks that didn't sound like the nicknames of teenage wannabe skate gods.


M had pregamed significantly at her apartment (just down the street) and drank at the other bar. She also had been complaining that, though she had a regular guy when she was working in Berlin this summer, she hadn't even been kissed in a whole three weeks. (Cry me a fucking river.) So, when a gorgeous Swiss guy and his friend right inside the door greeted us with a "bonsoir", she was all over that. I am neither a good conversationalist nor interested in hooking up with someone who is catching a train to Zurich in less than 24 hours, so the gorgeous Swiss guy was also into her. (It helped that she speaks fluent German as well as passable French.)

Which left me with the friend. Though this guy was clearly hoping to get some action, I was not interested. He was 30, with snaggly teeth and sweaty hair and a heavy accent. (The accent isn't a problem in and of himself, but it'll be relevant later.) But I tried, Groupthink. I tried to be polite even though I was not interested, so that M and the gorgeous Swiss guy could talk uninterrupted. But soon I blatantly (though completely unintentionally) stopped listening and started looking in the opposite direction, and he decided to go out for a smoke.

M and the gorgeous Swiss guy were deep in conversation, so I decided to see if my American debit card would work at the bar. It didn't, but the lovely British bartenders gave me a whiskey and Coke anyway. I chatted with them for a bit, until the creepy friend returned.

As he too was sticking by his friend, he sat next to me and continued trying to talk to me. I continued being increasingly snarky and bitchtastic. The first part of our conversation involved the following:

  • asking me, completely out of the blue, if I smoked pot (I don't)
  • "Not at all?" No, not at all, that is what "no" means
  • "What makes you enjoy life? What is fun for you?" Spending time with people I like and who interest me. Pointed stare. "But what makes that fun?"

(^not my actual response)

  • asking why I was dressed up (I'm not, these are my goddamn clothes and I wear them like this every day, thank you)
  • assorted intro-level philosophical questions/statements of the type often found on Pinterest, superimposed on out-of-focus pictures of landscapes and the sky, most of them presumably geared toward getting me to be more outgoing and friendly

At this point, I realized one of the reasons he bothered me so much: between the accent, the unnecessary eye contact, and his insistence on asking "deep" open-ended questions even when faced with my clear lack of desire to respond, he reminded me of my former therapist. Who I strongly dislike, and who I stopped seeing this summer after deciding that regularly crying out of frustration and feeling increasingly anxious before sessions was not a good thing.


This revelation made me even more uncomfortable, until finally I decided to tell him that he reminded me a lot of someone I hate. I don't recall what or if he responded to this, but it was not much of a deterrent. The following are more highlights from the latter part of our conversation, throughout which I Hilary-ed like a pro.

  • (asked in a metaphorical, philosophical way) "Would you rather be a Sith or a Jedi?" Neither. Sith are evil and Jedi are assholes. "So you'd rather just be an ordinary person? Something something Jedi something." No, and if you'd listened to what I said thirty fucking seconds ago you would get that.
  • something rambly about how he's usually a Jedi, but sometimes he likes to be a Sith
  • "sometimes we do things that we know are bad for us, like that whiskey" (this is roughly the point at which, had M and gorgeous Swiss guy not been deep in conversation about international politics, I would have told him to go the fuck away because he was coming off as a rapey creep)
  • something about how I winked at him (no, that was an "I can't understand what you're saying because you're drunk in addition to being an asshat" face)
  • multiple unnecessary comments on my lipstick (see Lucille for response)
  • a handful of questions to me from the bartender, to which I responded in a perfectly friendly manner

(IIRC, his actual words were "well, we both know I'm an asshole")

  • "Why are you so meeeeeeeeeeean, I'm just trying to be friendly, you should be nicer to me" (paraphrased). "That depends, how far into feminist theory would you like me to go?"
  • "Are you always this arrogant?" Yes. At least when I'm talking to people who deserve it.

Eventually, the bar closed, I gave the wonderful bartenders the two euros I had in my wallet, and we went back to M's apartment. The others had some wine; when the creepy guy tried to convince me to have something I snapped at him because a) I said no, b) that wine was awful, and c) I fucking said no. After a few minutes, I got my bag and M walked with me to my bike, which is basically where my night ended.

On the plus side, when M came back the creepy guy had (as expected) disappeared himself and she had sex with the gorgeous Swiss guy (who was alone when she got back), which was a story in and of itself when I saw her this morning. And the guys are on a train to Zurich now, so I'm unlikely to ever see the creepy one again. As M is fond of saying: no regrets, just love.


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