At the Bar

To begin at the beginning my boss, G,  and I were at a conference in Boston last Spring.  One night, we went to dinner with some colleagues from our member companies and someone that was not me thought it would be cool to have a beer at the Cheers bar , which I swear used to be called something else.  There were about eight women along with G,  and a guy from Alabama that I will call..Alabama.

We were sitting around the corner of the bar and I was at the end, pretending to drink a beer, which I never do.  And a couple of drunk Virginians on their way back from Fenway sat down next to me.  I know they were drunk Virginians on their way back from Fenway because they told me that  a) they were from Virginia; b) they had just come from Fenway and..one of them was breathing on me.  Dude asked me twice if he could buy me a drink.

Now, I am not used to having drunk guys..breathing on me, because I am not Jennifer Aniston and because my Single Girl Stare of Death is extremely effective.  But I was with people!  I hadn’t charged it up!   I glanced over at G a couple of times, but he was oblivious to my plight.  So the end of the conversation went like this:

Dude #1:    Where are you from?

Me:               Chicago

Dude #1:      Chicago is great.  Can you guess where I’m from?

Me:                Virginia.

Dude #1:       Whoa!  How did you know that?!

Me:                 Because you told me five minutes ago.

Dude #1:        (turns redder)

Dude #2:        (falls off his chair laughing)  (literally)

When I say “literally”, I mean Literally and not Figuratively.  They finally left and my group left shortly thereafter.  I was trying to decide just how much shit to give G for leaving me all stranded when Alabama started laughing at me.  He had watched the entire thing and thought it was hilarious.  My head exploded.  (Figuratively).  He said that I obviously hadn’t needed help and he swore up and down that he would have jumped in if it had gotten ugly.  By then, the Single Girl Stare of Death was ready, but it was too dark outside for anyone to see it.

Fast forward to last weekend.  I was waiting for John in the bar next to his theatre when a..much older gentleman struck up a conversation.  Because he was so..old..my guard was down and I chatted a bit and the next thing I know he was..breathing on me and my Single Girl Stare of Death was totally not charged!  I got out of it somehow, which led me to tell John the story about Alabama in the Cheers bar.

The next morning, I flew out to the next conference and my first..assignment was to meet G and Alabama.  At the bar.  Here’s how it went:

Me:               I was talking about you last night.

Alabama:    Great.  What about?

Me:               About how I thought you were my friend until you let a couple of drunk Virginians breathe on me at the Cheers bar in Boston.

Alabama:     (laughing)  That was funny.

Me:                Not funny!  Mean!

Alabama:     Slightly mean.  And really funny.  But anyway, what was I supposed to do?

Me:                You were supposed to walk over, stand next to me, look at the guy and say, “She’s with me.”

Alabama:      (does a double take)  What am I supposed to say, that I’m your father?!

Me:                Wait, what?!  No!

Alabama:      Am I supposed to say that you’re my girlfriend?

Me:                No!  You just say “She’s with me”.  (turns to G)  Is that not the universally semi-polite way to tell a guy to back off of a girl?

G:                   Yes.

Alabama:      Ok, ok.  Lemme get this straight.  Any time we are together and some guy comes over and hits on you, I am supposed to step in and say, “She’s with me”?

Me:                 Yes.

Alabama:       (…)

Alabama:       I can do that.  But I’m tellinya right now – next time it is going to be the love of your life and you’re gonna be sorry.

As an aside, I clarified with G that if it happened to be Brian Urlacher that hit on me, that he was to stop any Alabama intervention.  G agreed.

You may all consider this a public service announcement.

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