Posted by: alainnneart | August 14, 2009

Excuse me please, one more drink. Could you make it strong because I don’t need to think

For the past few weeks I haven’t been gong to the gym.  I used to go and work out every Thursday night for an hour.  My next-door neighbor John would come and sit with SC for an hour as he fell asleep.  I would pay him five dollars. Cheap, I know, but by the time I left to work out he would be in bed dozing off.  All john needs to do is be there in case he wakes.

But, as I stated, I have not been going to the gym.  Instead, for the past month, I have been going to the local bar.  Please let me explain before you pass the “Irish=drunk” stigmatism that I have fought my whole life (because with my name, it’s pretty obvious I am from the old county) I go to the local Irish pub and have a cider.  Or two.  I write in my dairy a bout everything that has happened in the week and let’s face it; I have a lot of things happen in the week.

I sit, in the corner at the bar, and write and listen to my iPod.  I don’t bother anyone.  Daniel, the bartender, knows me and knows my drink.  He also no longer cards me, after finally accepting that I am not an under age drinker.  (That took awhile.)

This is my one hour to myself a week where I can really and honestly relax.  I don’t have to answer med orders.  I don’t have to deal with children.  I sure as hell don’t have to deal with ex appearing suddenly with no reason.   I can just relax, enjoy my cider, and write everything down.

What I don’t want is the sleazy 40 years old to shimmy up to me and hit on me.  Sure, I will take your free drink, but no, I will never give you a straight answer.

“So what do you do for a living?”

“I work for lawyers downtown as an admin assistant.”

“Wow.  Do you like your job?”

“Sure I do long hours and I don’t get to see my four kids.  John, my 16 year old, is raisin hell now”

“Wow, so you have a man in your life to help with the kids?”

“No, he died six months ago.  I would rather be single”

It seems like no matter what I threw at creepy man, it didn’t work.  Finally, he asked where I lived.  OH HELL NO.  There is no way I am telling creepy man where I live!  What kind of idiot do you take me for?  I told him I lived far enough away to catch a cab.

He asked my name

“Jennifer”
Because I am not stupid.

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Responses

  1. I can’t stand it when guys can’t take a hint.


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