A Girl Walks Into a Bar

Proving, once again, that I am a weirdness magnet.

My class had its end-of-semester party at a bar in the Lower East Side last night. I got there on time, which is to say early, because the MTA was remarkably more efficient than I am accustomed to. 

As I stood inside, near the front door, I spotted some guys who looked like either business students or actual practitioners of the business arts. In the back were some young lesbians chilling out over a pitcher, and then at the bar was a range of older working stiffs and hipsters. 

One of the working stiffs approached me and offered his seat at the bar. I thanked him but declined, saying I was there for a party. 

"No one told me about a party," he said. Then he pointed out the $5 special - a Bud and a shot of whiskey. I said I'd think about it.

I checked to make sure I had the right place. I did. I grabbed a table and decided to wait for twenty minutes. It crossed my mind that maybe I had the time wrong.

In short order, the man I had encountered earlier came over and gave me a bottle of Bud and a shot of something that pretended to be whiskey. "Since you're having trouble deciding," he said.

Now, dear readers, I ask you, what does on do? Accept the gift with no strings attached, or politely demur and risk offending the gracious host?

He returned to his post, and I let it sit for five minutes before starting on the beer. 

Eventually, my fellow students and colleagues streamed in, and in short order we had ourselves a party. It was good, we talked, decompressed, and got to know each other better. I watched two boys play a deer hunting game. Several students later resorted to beer pong. Meanwhile, I had a different sort of encounter.

I got to chatting with two of the hipsters, who turned out to be husband and wife. The husband held forth on how men who played hunting games didn't ever really hunt. His wife encouraged me to dance on top of the bar with her. I declined, and waltzed away when she went out for a cigarette. Later, I saw that she and another woman were actually dancing on the bar, and I realized it was a good thing that I demurred because my head would have been in the ceiling. Later, as I donned my coat, she accosted me.

"Where are you going? You're supposed to dance with me!"

"I can't. I am too drunk and I have to go home."

"Come on!"

This looped several times before she finally asked what sign I was.

"You're so stubborn! Are you an Aries? A Taurus?"

"I'm a Gemini," I said. "I'm just persistent."

With that, she let me go, and I glided through the below-freezing temperatures up to Houston, over to Second Avenue - familiar stops from an earlier life - and got on the train to go home.