Let me begin this by saying that I am all for gender equality. I don’t believe that women should be given jobs solely because they’re women, but I do believe that the best candidate should get the job in all cases, regardless of gender. With that said, I’m not above flirting my way into and out of things. As a problem solver, you have to be prepared to use all the tools at your disposal, even if those tools involve long legs and nice boobs. Plus, men do the exact same thing when they can, and when they remember to.
This is a roundabout way of getting to my point, but I assure you, it will all make sense eventually.
This past Saturday night, I went out to the Liquor Store with my friends Stephanie and Danielle. Despite 3 years at Emerson, I have never been to this bar. I guess after hearing so many times, “You’re from Texas? You’re probably amazing at the mechanical bull, you should take your top off while doing it!” I was turned off completely. It was snowing and freezing, but we needed to celebrate Danielle’s last weekend of freedom before starting her insane workout / diet regimen in preparation for a body-building competition. Yes, I know. There aren’t enough words in the English language to explain how f-ing cool that is, so I’m not going to try.
The bar was actually pretty fun. Multiple rooms, fun decorations, good dance floor… All was well until we were approached by them.
Two men, about our age, sauntered up. One was short and unattractive. The other was tall and moderately attractive in that “I spend too long trying to make it look like I didn’t spend too much time on my hair,” tight graphic t-shirt kind of way.
“So, I was nervous but my friend said I HAVE to come up and try to talk to you ladies,” the attractive one said.
I will never understand why men use this line. Really?
We talked to them for a while. They complimented us, we smiled, we all made small talk. It was altogether uninteresting, until I started to feel this pressure when we made eye contact. There’s a moment when one party expects something from the encounter, and you can feel it in their unwillingness to look away from you. It’s the moment when the conversation becomes slightly suffocating, when you can barely answer one question before they sling another in your direction, and it’s all moving too fast and yet still it’s not interesting, and it becomes harder and harder to find a polite way out. We were at this point. I decided to say, “Come on girls, let’s do a shot.”
The boys looked at us expectantly.
“What?” I asked.
“Can we join you?” they asked.
“Sure, but you’re buying your own shots. I’m not paying for you.”
I figured this was direct enough to convey that, despite their pitiful efforts, we were not going to go home with them. Instead, they accepted.
Here’s where I made a mistake. I should’ve asked the bartender for three shots, and let the boys order their own. Instead I ordered five and said, “The two guys are paying for theirs separately.” I know, I’m shitty. I just felt like, why should he have to mix up two batches of shots two minutes apart?
Two minutes later we figured out what their game was. They were the guys who hit on girls in hopes of being bought alcohol. First, they refused to pay. Then, they paid, left no tip, and THREW (yes, threw) the bill (which was in one of those black folding things) at the bartender. Who then yelled, “What the fuck is your problem, you don’t throw the bill then NOT TIP..” and some other stuff about how they shouldn’t expect ladies like us to buy them drinks when they were such manipulative shitheads.
That poor bartender. The assholes then started calling him a loser low-life bartender, and I busted out the serious teacher voice, and they went to prey on other innocent victims. We of course tipped the bartender obscenely for our next round of drinks, then ran off to the other end of the dance floor.
All I have to say is, leave it to men to screw up something as simple as that. Yes, it’s preferable to have someone else spend money on your drink. But it’s not like a race, where most times, if you push hard enough, you will accomplish your goal. You flirt for a few minutes, and if it doesn’t work, buy your own drink. It’s not a science, or an art. It’s just part of hanging out at a bar. And if someone tells you that you’re buying your own drink, you do NOT pretend you didn’t hear and then physically and verbally assault the bartender. Ugh.
I was so angry I almost wanted to ride that damn bull. Luckily, it was turned off for the night.
Tall boy approached me an hour later and said, “Wow, what the hell was wrong with that bartender?” I smiled and said, “You have ten seconds before I break your nose. Walk away.” No, I’m not proud of it. But damn it felt cool to make that threat and know full well that I could deliver it.
Back to my original point: I believe in equality. I don’t expect things, financially, from men. I go to bars to dance with the friends I came with and possibly meet new friends. If someone buys me a drink, great. If I decide to buy someone else a drink, great. But I have no expectations, and whatever happens is fine. I don’t believe that men should always get the check. I don’t go to bars expecting for men to buy me drinks. All I ask for is to not be bullied into buying drinks for men. Is that so much to ask?
ManMooches. That’s what I’ll call them.
Ugh.
