The hour badly spent

livejournaley, hell is other people, last night's party, fucking thursdays, fuck it i'm so outta here, hipsters can't love, t.s. eliot, where everybody knows your name, like shoving bamboo splinters under your nails, like getting 39 lashes again & again, like getting rammed in the nuts with a tire iron, like a quick dip in the shark tank, like getting hit in the head with a treo, love is a construct, like being impaled on a maypole, like swimming in a vat of battery acid, like getting blowtorched in the eyesDecember 12, 2008 11:03 pm

Did you trudge slowly to Aggieville, reluctantly preparing a face to meet the faces that you meet? Did you run into a pack of grad students, one of whom owed you a drink? How did that conversation go?

"Am I getting you that drink?" "Why, indeed you are."

It was a screwdriver, because they’re only two bucks at Mae’s.

Grad Student paid the waitress. "Tomorrow morning I’ll be drinking a citrusey cocktail as well!"

"While grading portfolios? Let me guess: mimosas."

The two other Graddies discussed who was bringing all the orange juice tomorrow morning. I checked my phone — no new messages since the ones I’d been reading an hour prior (of the soul-destroying "you-hould-stay-away-from-me-or-we’ll-both-get-hurt" variety)  — and finished my drink. And another. They decided to go dancing, as if this fucking day couldn’t get any worse.

We ended up at Tubby’s. The grad students weren’t kidding about wanting to dance. I joined in for a minute and sort of swayed back and forth, lazily bending my knees when appropriate, until I got tired (me = olde). The other guys in the bar all looked like date rapists. I went outside for some fresh air.

It was cool outside, and the music was better, more conducive to moping. And then suddenly it wasn’t; a redheaded Irishman started badgering me about oatmeal cookies. "They taste so good. Have one. Have one. Have one."

"But I need something stronger."

"Have one."

His friend — who also looked like a date rapist — bought a round of viking warhammers, whatever the fuck that is. I downed one and checked my phone again (masochism!) and went back to the dance floor. I tried to start again with the knee-bendey thing, but my heart just wasn’t in it.

last night's party, decline of civilization, hippies don't lie, wouldn't it be a shame if something were to happen to.., shut up kansas, auntie mae's parlor, where everybody knows your name, stay classy, twatnozzles, doucherieNovember 9, 2008 11:48 pm

It was a chilly night, 28 degrees. The Memory of Water was sold out by the time Smallville & I arrived. Our plans dashed, we ended up going to Auntie Mae’s with the Poetess.

"We’d better smoke all our cigarettes once we get there, while we still can."

The Poetess had just found her long-lost driver’s license and was in a rare celebratory mood.

"You don’t want me to buy the first round?" she offered.

"If you put it that way, I’ll have a screwdriver." They’re cheap here.

"Yuch."

We sat at a booth open right there (it was not as crowded as we’d expected). "How’s your drink?"

"A little weak."

Nevertheless, we were having a good time. We talked and talked and talked. Smallville said later that I kept hijacking the conversation. I’d like to think it was because of the double G&Ts, but it’s more likely that I’m just generally a boisterous fool. I told her and the Poetess, for the 83rd time, about how I used to get awful service at every eatery in Miami; about how it was a while before it occurred to me to not tip people for bad service.

Last call came around. Katie the waitress brought me a Manhattan and my check.

I went up to the bar and got change for a five from Robin, the bartender. She hadn’t served me all night, but I left her a tip just because I like Robin. I got ready to hand the rest of my change off to Katie. Before I could do so, I had the worst "customer service experience" of my life, which I told a friend about over Digsby the next day.

The Hour Badly Spent: i was there with a couple of ppl, and they announced they were closing up
The Hour Badly Spent: i still had a drink, so i started chugging it. this guy comes by and he’s like "get out! get out!" so i chug my drink faster, but it’s a manhattan, so it’s a little hard to down
The Hour Badly Spent: he stopped at our table and said "let’s go! get out!" so i said "i just need 30 sec more to finish this, please"
The Hour Badly Spent: i’ve done that before. i go to that bar a lot
The Hour Badly Spent: and they’re usually like "okay, just hurry up and finish"
The Hour Badly Spent: but this guy said "no. get out"
The Hour Badly Spent: and i said "please, just a few seconds"
The Hour Badly Spent: and he’s like "no, it’s 2 o clock. get out"
The Hour Badly Spent: so i checked my phone. it was 1:49
The Hour Badly Spent: so i said "can you stop being an asshole? i just need a few seconds"
The Hour Badly Spent: and he said "so i’m an asshole? THIS is how much i care about your drink." then he picked up my glass and smashed it on the floor
The Hour Badly Spent: unfortunately, that guy was a bouncer. so he called another bouncer ("Dan," who wouldn’t tell me the name of the guy who slammed my drink on the floor) and they escorted me out.
The Hour Badly Spent: obvs, i shouldn’t have called him an asshole, but i don’t think it justified the display of violence
The Hour Badly Spent: your thoughts?
Magneto: u were in the right.
The Hour Badly Spent: what really sucks is that’s the bar i ALWAYS go to. whenever me or anyone here i know say we’re going to the bars, it’s always that one bar. i’m there at least every week, sometimes twice, and i always just sit w/my friends, drink, and mind my own business
It’s not even that I’m angry; it’s more like did that really just happen? At Mae’s? I went to the speakeasy-type-place to see Jimbo Ivy and sip vodka with other English majors. I ended up swept away in some twatnozzle’s fratboy melodrama. If I wanted this kind of bullshit I could have just gone to Kite’s.

"I didn’t think you were the type to get kicked out of Mae’s," the Poetess said. We were outside. I still had the cash for Katie’s tip in my hand.

[Auntie Mae’s Parlor]