On Slapping Strangers, and Making Boys Cry

I have a regular bar. Its actually something I recommend any adult over the age of 21 develop. A place where the bar tenders, and waiters all know your name, and favorite drink at least, a place where they'll keep an eye on you when the creepy guy starts making moves, where they'll give you the answers to the trivia questions, and where they'll occasionally grade you on a curve. If you ever come to DC and are visiting me, I'll take you to my regular bar, unless of course its a weekend. Because the only problem with my regular bar is the neighborhood it's in becomes overpopulated with douche-bags on the weekend. And no, I don't mean the feminine hygiene product.

In case you are not familiar with the phenomenon that is the douche bag let me enlighten you. A douche bag is a guy (although in rare circumstances it can be a girl) from somewhere in the north who think's he's god's gift to humanity (even though the only meaningful contribution to the world is giving us fashion to ridicule.) He played lacrosse in high school. It's likely his family has money. And he act's a bit like a character from the Jersey Shore, with a higher education, and less steroids (take this with a grain of salt as I've never seen an episode of the Jersey Shore) . They wear button down t-shits (typically printed in a pattern or flannel) with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and the collar on occasion popped, and it's my personal belief the pay the dry cleaners to wrinkle their clothes just a bit.

That being said, even though that's not the regular clientele of my regular bar, when the majority of people in the neighborhood become those people, so on weekends, I avoid the bar like the plague. And I definitely try to avoid that neighborhood on the weekends.

So needless to say, that when a friend I already agreed to go out with (to play cock blocker (please don't make me define this one)) told me we were going to this neighborhood I was less than pleased. But, like I've already said I had committed. Now there are a few things you need to know before this story continues. I like to think that I'm witty, although the truth is, I'm sarcastic, and probably a bit mean. I don't like to be touched (especially by strangers, double especially when I can't see it coming) , and I have a low tolerance for bars that are full of douchebag's and loud, and a lower tolerance for people who deliberately seek out those kinds of bars.

Now Friend A wanted me to go out with her and her roommate, because a guy her roommate was friends with let's call him Tony, had a crush on her, and was getting more and more inappropriate as the night went on. Tony also brought a friend, we'll call Tony's friend Gary. Tony doesn't really have a roll in this story, mostly because he seemed like a fairly normal guy. Gary however, was a total douche. Gary learned, early on that I don't like to be touched in an example of this inappropriateness; he was climbing across the couch, behind me, and stopped with both hands on my shoulders...then I felt something hit the back of my head. Yes, Gary decided it was appropriate to hump the back of my head. So I jumped up and darted across the room, I also might have yelled. At which point Friend A came out of her bedroom and told him that don't like being touched (which he seemed offended by) and that he was lucky, Friend A has seen me dislocate someone's shoulder, an punch a different someone in the face for inappropriate (or surprise ) touching.

Shortly after this, we left for the bar. The first bar we went to was actually quite nice, they had a decent beer selection (although Gary insisted on drinking Bud Light another sign that he was going to be trouble as if the attempted humping of the back of my head wasn't enough), the bar was a little crowded, but mostly quiet. We had been there for about fifteen minutes before we ran into some people that Friend A and I knew, and it was about ten more minutes before Gary started to complain about the bar. His first, and main complaint was that there weren't enough people there, and he wanted to leave and go to the douchyst bar in the neighborhood. Luckily the other girls had enough sense to say absolutely not.

But after a few more complaints we decided to leave and try another bar. Gary practically ran outside where he waited for the rest of us to pay, and finish our drinks. The second bar we went to had a cover, so we decided to go somewhere else, at which point Gary suggested the douchey bar again, and was shot down again. Instead we decided on the Chinese restaurant that served beers the size of a hobbit holding a pint (no joke whenever I go to this bar, which is like never, I hear that exchange from Merry and Pippin, "What is that?" /"this my friend is a pint"/"It comes in pints? I'm getting one" .

Anyway, after everyone ordered their Pint to make you feel like a hobbit (aka a 40 ounce) , Gary decided he didnt like this bar either. Now let it be said, I'm sarcastic, I own the fact that I'm sarcastic, and perhaps a bit mean, but I expect people for giving it back to me. When Gary came up to me and said the bar was lame the conversation went something like this:

Gary "This bar sucks"

Me "Why?"

Gary "It's not crowded enough."

Me (pointing into the crowd of people four rows deep by the bar) "Why don't you go stand over there? That looks like a crowd."

Gary "those people are waiting to buy drinks."

Me "So, it's definitely a crowd. "

Gary "I just don't like this place"

Me "What don't you like about it?"

Gary "It's to quiet."

Me "Oh, so you don't like it cause we can hear each other speak, and don't have people bumping into us spilling drinks on us?"

Gary turns and walks away, presumably to stand in the crowd.

Later I see Gary sitting in the corner pouting, at which point I politely smile and wave and continue talking to the random's Friend A is talking too. Which brings us to another classic example of exaggerated douchyness. Upon meeting one of the randoms, I went to shake his hand, at which poit he decided the more appropriate action would be to kiss my hand, but t the last minute, instead of kissing my hand, he decided to lick my hand, and I decided to slap him in the face. Which he seemed offended by. But to be honest, in my opinion, if you're going to lick a stranger, you deserve whatever is coming to you.

At this point, I retreat to the bar, because it seems safer, roommate asks me where Gary is, I tell her he was pouting in the corner by himself, and she I assume goes off to find him. I'm quite happy sitting at the bar drinking by giant beer, making friends with the other people at the bar, who have not tried to hump my head or lick me so they seem perfectly normal in my book.

However, not too much later, Gary comes back, he runs his hand up my arm and should, and decides to rub the back of my neck. I shove him, yell no, an go back to drinking. Gary runs away. Friend A comes up about five minutes later and asks what I did to Gary. I showed her what he did, and then tell her I pushed him off. She then tells me he is crying. Which, I really don't know what to do about, aside from ignore as he is clearly a crazy person. My personal theory is that in his mind humping someone's head makes them your property, and he was upset that I didn't get that.

After a very awkward cab ride back to friend A's apartment, we all passed out, then in the morning woke up and fled (or at least I did).

And that, is a classic example of why I don't go out on the weekends, or at least I don't go to that neighborhood.