“So you coming back to my place?”
WHAT? Really, that is the best you could come up with. The vixen politely declines and mentions that we just got here and want to hang out for a while. The intruder doesn’t budge. We sit in awkward silence for several more minutes and he pipes up “Sometimes you just have to go home, so are you gonna come hang out?” “Um no,” the vixen repeats, “we just got here and we want to hang out”.
This goes on for a full 30 minutes. Finally he walks away…but wait he left his drink. The vixen shouts “You forgot your drink!” figuring that he absolutely HAS to take that has a hint that no, I don’t want to go home with you, in fact I don’t even want to talk to you while I am here. Woot! We are in the clear, we order a few more drinks from the waitress and start to scope the place out for interesting people.
Just 2 minutes of freedom and HE COMES BACK! I am not kidding, and remember the lack of conversation that went on above, well lather rinse and repeat…WORD for WORD. My G-d will this never end. As the look of terror appears on the vixen’s face I decide that desperate times come for desperate measures. I reach for my drink and OOPs, spilled (yes I committed a party foul with a full drink; hey I said I was desperate). “FUCK, I need a new drink. Lets GO TO THE BAR and get one”.
We go inside grab a seat at a table near the bar and pretend to be really interested in the lame band on stage. After a while the intruder comes inside, but he doesn’t see us and starts badgering some poor blond at the bar. This is our chance. We decide to sneak outside and immediately find someone to sit with so we don’t leave ourselves open to another round of the intruder. An older man in the corner spots the desperate look on our faces and offers us a couple of chairs at his table.
He immediately starts polite conversation and asks us why we look so frazzled. We explain the situation, he laughs, “You don’t need that’s shit”. He tells us a little about himself and that he is here with his son, ‘who is around here somewhere flirting around with girls”. Shit, no it can’t be. “It would be funny as hell if our intruder was your son” says the vixen.
“Oh no way my son is a cool kid. So what does this guy look like?”
“Shaved head, black button up shirt.”
“That would be my son.”
FUCK! We apologize profusely trying not to crack up in the poor guys face. We get up and migrate to the other side of the bar and hide out until a bouncer (that has been keeping an eye on us) kicks the intruder out for badgering girls.
How in the hell does that happen. I mean really out of all the people in the bar we sit with the intruders DAD. Nice, real nice.
