Midnight Outings

So I got in a bit of a tiff last night at my local watering hole. Probably not the best judgment on my part, mostly because it occurred with a long time resident drinker, so chances are I will run into him again. And so the story goes…

Because my good friend from college, Megan, is in town, she, Emily, and I went out to a couple bars. Going out on week nights is actually a rare occurrence for me these days (these days meaning in the past six months to a year), but I made the exception for our visitor. First we went to Barney’s Beanery because Emily wanted to play pool. I'm not too fond of the college scene that is characteristic of Barney's but we just don't know of any other fun pool halls in the Hollywood area that actually offer more than one table - so if you readers know of any, I beg of you, PLEASE COMMENT!!

After having our fill there, we headed back to our neighborhood to hit one of our more frequented bars, and the closest bar to our apartment, Three of Clubs. Megan and I went to the bathroom, immediately after which she left to go meet up with some other friends. I come back to the bar stool where Emily is sitting, only to find her hunched over the bar, fading fast from consciousness. I then see a group of four just-under-forty-something guys standing around her. One shorter, dark haired fellow is leaning over Emily talking to her, though she looks to be unaware of it. To me, it appears as though he is attempting to take advantage of my decision impaired friend. So I begin to shoo him away with comments along the lines of, “she doesn’t want to talk to you”, “leave us alone”, and, “we have boyfriends so get outta here,” among others. Sure, I ran my mouth a bit – because you know, I get feisty – leaving him struggling to get in his own phrases like, “are you done yet?”

Well our Good Samaritan friend gets very offended and explains that he was only trying to see if my friend was okay, since she didn’t look to be in the best of shape. I utter a bashful, “oh…” I apologize and explain that in a scenario like this one, it is often the case that the man in his position is some over-aggressive walking penis who wants to exploit our drunken state. Then something strange happened. After hearing my apology, explanation, and then follow-up apology, Good Samaritan gets even more heated. He starts berating me for my indignation. I say, “listen man, I apologized. I swallowed my pride, told you you were right and I was wrong… I put myself in place. I was being light-hearted in my feistiness, not hateful. I’m sorry. Can’t you at least chalk it up to being an entertaining exchange?”

No. No he couldn’t. His rant continued with a lecture about how he’s been coming to this bar for fifteen years and how disgusted he is with the evolving clientele, who apparently waltz into HIS local spot and take over the place with their drunken antics. I’m thinking to myself, ‘it’s midnight at a dimly red-lit dive bar in Hollywood and this guy is complaining that he’s surrounded by drunk young people… what did he expect when he walked in here, an orchestra?’ I tell him that I’m not just another wet behind the ears Hollywood newbie; I grew up down the street and have been coming here for 10 years, since I was 14 and they let me pass with my 24 year-old sister’s ID, even though she was such a regular there that they knew her by name. This only angered him more.

His friend standing closest to us finally chimes in, saying to Grumpy, “what’s the problem? She said she was in the wrong and apologized. Why are you still talking about it?” I exclaim, “thank you! Thank you very much. Let me shake your hand. What’s your name?” He tells me his name, and then I turn to the other two on-looking friends to gather their names. They look a little clueless as to what is going on and state that it’s too loud to even hear what we’ve been talking about this whole time. As we introduce ourselves, Sour Puss says, “what’s the difference? It’s not like she’s even going to remember any of your names in the morning.” “Ha!” I gloat, “joke’s on you – I don’t even remember your names right now!” And immediately realized that such a statement actually does not help my case. (I in fact remembered one name at the time. Rick.)

Then a very useful piece of information surfaces. Jerk Face mutters something about just wanting to have a good time at his local spot on his birthday. Ah yes, it’s all coming together now. He’s upset about getting older (perhaps he was celebrating the 40 year milestone), the infestation of drunk whippersnappers at the bar he’s been a veteran at for 20 years (yes, at this point we are up to 20) and most likely also that he is sans lady friend and just got three snaps in a Z formation from some cute young feisty girl. Even though, mind you, I was polite and apologetic and wished him a happy birthday.

We left the scene and I just kept thinking about how I should have said something like, “don’t take it out on me because this bar is retaining a young clientele and evolving but you clearly are not, since you are still frequenting the same bar as when you were 18, back when that was the legal drinking age.” But I guess I wasn’t quick enough on my toes.

At least I won’t feel awkward the next time I go there since obviously all faces with wrinkles look the same to me.