Bar Chit-Chat

I have another club/bar review in the paper this Thursday (it's the Holiday Inn Select's very "alcoholic-friendly" bar with it's $1 beers and such.)

But natrually all my musings couldn't make it into the article. So here's what you'll be missing, Bakersfield. It's time for ...

Bar Chit-Chat with Danielle Belton and her unnamed "bar hopping companion!"

SELF-DEFENSE
a short bar story by Danielle Belton
(*based on actual events at the Holiday Inn Select, Saturday, Nov. 26)

"So he actually called me, 'Rumplestilskin,'" I said, after mentioning my encounter with male bar stereotype #32: "Mr. Pushy McAnnoying."

After waiting an obscene amount of time for a cup of water and a soda for my bar hopping companion, Mr. McAnnoying had sidled up next to me and repeatedly tried to guess my name in hopes of making some sort of drunken love connection.

As I waited on the barkeep to pour her $1 Bud Lights for the Condors crowd, he shouted out possible names.

"Mariah?"

"No," I said.

"Janet?"

"No."

"Halle Berry?"

No, I said now realizing he was naming famous, extremely hot black and bi-racial women in hopes of impressing me. He was not impressing me, but he pressed on, even more freverantly after he noticed I was wearing an initial necklace.

"Is that a 'D' or a 'P'," he asked.

"It's a 'D,'" I said.

And so it continued.

"Dakota?"

"No."

"Deidre?"

"No."

"Darla?"

Intermittenly, he would ask again and again if I would tell him my real name and I repeated that I would not. Even when the barkeep needed to see my ID to make sure I was old enough to be in the bar and receive my water and soda, I made sure that he could not see it. It was during these moments he would ask me if my name was "Rumplestilskin."

He asked me if that was my name five times. I guess he thought it was funny.

"So, you're not going to tell me your name," McAnnoying asked again.

"No," I said, smiling and shaking my head, obviously sending the drunkerd mixed signals.

Duuuurrrr, thought Pushy, She smile. She like! Me ask mo' question! Mo' question! No mean YES!

Nearby was my very tall and sturdy bar hopping companion. When I finally was able to get away from McAnnoying, we sat down in some comfy chairs, enjoyed our non-alcoholic beverages and chatted about Pushy.

"I couldn't tell if you needed me to step in or not," she said.

"Oh, I was fine," I said. "I would have only been worried if he tried to box me out."

"I was watching for that," she said. "I was standing right behind you because if he'd tried that ... well ... you know," my friend said, then demonstrating with her hands the universal girl sign language for "I would kick a drunk guy's ass."

Then, as we sat there, we dicussed the ways a woman should handle a drunk guy who can't understand the word "no" because he's so freakin' drunk.

"See? You should punch a guy in the face first, because that will catch him off guard because guys don't expect girls to punch them in the face and then, then you hit him in the groin," she said.

"Interesting," I said. "I always think to go for the eye. You know? Poke 'em in the eye, then hit the groin?"

"Oh, and the nose. The nose is really sensetive. So I'd say go for the nose, then the groin," she said. "But then there's also the neck, but you have to be careful. You could kill someone if you punch them in the neck."

And so I thought, that's really good advice. Eye? Good. Nose? Good. Groin? A classic. But neck? Think ladies, do you really want to kill this man? A crushed windpipe isn't a good thing. Sure, he's drunk and annoying, but even Pushy didn't desreve a finishing move from "Mortal Kombat."

So we settled it -- Face then groin.

fin.