In Reno, I got drunk at a bar with Lorin, who I know from the internet. The bar was uncrowded for a bar next to a casino on a Friday night. Onstage, a band of fattening middle aged men belted out dated songs.
“These guys,” I said to Lorin. “Imagine this. Each one of them is a dad. And this is what they do for fun.“
Down the bar, there was an older man talking to a blonde woman and another old man. He had long, white hair and a long, grey beard.
I said to Lorin, “Look. It’s Gandalf.”
The man did look uncannily like Ian McKellen’s Gandalf.
The band of dads continued to wail.
I said to Lorin, “We have to get Gandalf to dance.”
“Okay,” she said. “How?”
“I’ll ask him to dance if you do.”
“Okay,” she said. “But you have to ask first.”
“Let me get another drink and I will,” I said.
I ordered a Red Bull and whiskey. I was halfway through when Lorin got up and said, “It’s now or never,” and charged over to where Gandalf sat with the woman. I watched her approach Gandalf, watched him shake his head, and watched her lead his other old friend from the bar to the dance floor. They grooved.
I downed my drink and approached Gandalf.
“Can I ask your lady to dance?” I said. I may have slurred.
“What?” Gandalf said.
I noticed that Gandalf was wearing leather. Not biker leather; a leather corset.
“Can I ask your lady to dance?” I said again.
She addressed me directly and assertively: “First off, I am not his woman. And second, no, I am not interested.”
I went back to my stool at the bar, feeling more rejected than I’d been since high school. Lorin came back to the bar.
“I have so much respect for you right now,”I told her.
We did totally get denied
Comment by Countess — August 22, 2009 @ 5:29 am |