Wednesday, August 03, 2011

It used to be that I didn't give too much thought into who read my blog; I just wrote it. In the past few months however, I have found myself imposing self-censorship for obvious reasons (does my ex read this?) And now, well, even when I REALLY want to slap something up here, I'm reluctant. Actually, no. Scratch that. I. JUST. CAN'T.

However, I can regale you with a tale from this past weekend illustrating the selfishness of some Glaswegian men. On Saturday night, my friend, Erica, and I went out for cocktails at The Blind Pig and after one too many whisky cocktails, we found ourselves at Oran Mor. While we stumbled down into the subterranean club, Erica and I accessed whether or not I should text a guy (ain't that always the way). Behind us, a group of squaddies hijacked our analytical chat and forced their presence upon us. "Forget about him!" one of them demanded, "We're here!"

Before we were swallowed up by the nether regions of the club, Erica demanded that I make a decision, "YOU WON'T GET RECEPTION DOWN THERE!" she pointed out. Ack! In a panic, I texted him. Beep. Done. And in we went.

While Erica continued to hold court with our newly-acquired squaddie friends, I sidled up to the bar to get some pints. I patiently wait in HIGH HEELS and a TIGHT DRESS while all those in front of me were served. Just as it was my turn to order, a short ginger-haired dude pushed past me and barked his order at the barmaid. Somewhat shocked but still maintaining my cool, I tapped said accusers shoulder and said, "you just cut in front of a girl?!" Without even making eye contact or bothering to look at me, he just shrugged.

Now, is there anything more dismissive - not to mention juvenile - than a shrug? Here is a fully-formed man, who cannot even look in my direction but instead, half-heartedly shrugs away his guilt.

Undeterred, I waited for him to get his drinks and pay. Before he walked away from the bar, I stood in the troglodyte's path, batted my big eyelashes a couple times, pasted a huge welcoming grin on my grill and in my most sickly-sweet North American accent I calmly stated, "you're a fucking asshole." Without even breaking his stride he AGAIN, shrugged and admitted, "and the worst part is, I don't even care" and walked away.


The night improved though. That guy I texted? He showed up.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

YAY! (to the guy showing up!)