Slurring really turns me on. NOT!

So, back in October I temporarily stopped drinking for a (very) short period of time. And during these few days, I still managed to go out and have a good time despite replacing my Whiskey Gingers (or beers) for Shirley Temples. On one particularly memorable night, I was at Double Dutch with Kiss, entertaining myself as she worked, by counting alcohol bottles on the shelves behind the bar, people watching and downing my ST's .

Toward the end of the night, a guy came up and sat down next to me in the booth I was occupying. To be quite blunt, this guy was nothing short of a complete dick. He tried to make small talk with me, which was fine, but I found it incredibly difficult to understand him through his heavy slur. He also thought he would impress me by telling me that his mother is a famous writer here in San Francisco, but didn't think it appropriate to give her name...riiiiight. He also apparently was an artist and had an art gallery he ran with a few friends, but I could not for the life of me figure out what it was called, despite asking him to repeat himself at least 3 times.

At one point, he offered to buy me a drink, but I politely declined. And then he asked again, and again and again; getting angrier and angrier each time I refused. Kiss came up to offer him a raffle ticket for the painting that was being done that night, at which point he started talking trash to her and giving her a hard time--I really don't understand the artists in this city. They don't seem to want to support eachother and they all have the same excuse when asked by Kiss to buy a raffle ticket, "I'm an artist too." OK, and that renders you incapable of helping out your fellow artists?

Anyway, after the way Mr. Slurs treated Kiss, I was absolutely turned off (not that I was ever turned on) and decided an escape plan was needed. It was about this time that he started to tell me that I was beautiful. That's nice, but you're wasted and full of shit. He told me again, and I laughed which did not make him very happy. Seriously, though? Ugh. He got up to get himself another drink (as if he needed it) and I ran out of the booth and over to Kiss who had escaped to the opposite side of the bar. We were reflecting on Mr. Slurs poor attitude when I noticed him return to my booth and continue to stare me down. Creepy.

He finally finished his beer and got up to leave. Unfortunately, Kiss and I were in the way of the door to get out. He came up to us, and being the nice person I am, I politely tried to say goodbye and that it was nice to meet him, at which he replied, "You don't give a fuck! You don't give a fuck!" And then there was some inelegant slurring after that and a, "Go google my last name! You'll be sorry." Yeah, I was sorry alright; sorry I had to just go through that.

Perhaps if I could have understood his mothers name through the slur, I would have in fact googled her. Or his supposed art gallery. But the truth of the matter is, I don't give a fuck who his mom is, he was a fucking dickhead and I was not at all impressed with his stinky, pretentious attitude. End of story.


Yours,
Big Red