I'm in the midst of job application frenzy, just about to bombard the innocent with my cv before coming about and sailing for the neutral harbour of Desperate Hope. Still if no one is willing to employ me I can always look forward to the Nobel peace prize next year. Hell, we all can.
I haven't let terror of future unemployment completely phase me though. I'm far too used to terror for that, having lived in a perpetual state of it since I was cut out and slapped on the arse. Instead I've bin out drinkin I av. As usual, by the end of the evening it was just me and my two faithful Friday friends, our other companion having left on a self admitted "weird date kind of thing". At 11pm. Make of that what you will.
What a fantastically redundant phrase.
So we're in this bar right? Yes that's right. It happens to be the 'gay friendly' bar. I'm not really sure what this means, as I haven't seen any signs up in the other bars with little rainbows in a circle and a cross through them. Perhaps it means 'gay stereotype friendly' as amongst the crowd were muscular women with short hair and tattoos; buff bartenders in skin tight shirts; old gentlemen with high pitched voices and delicate hands; and effeminate young men wearing tiny tennis shorts. In the window there was a sign advertising something called 'sausage fest'.
Unusually I'd say, though I'm not an expert on 'gay friendly' bars, there was also a very large dog, sitting by one of the tables while its owners had a drink. We discussed whether state law allowed dogs in bars or not, and I honestly can't remember what the answer was. I mean you're allowed guns (as long as they're not concealed) so why not German Shepherds?
The female member of our holy trinity of weekend alcoholism remarked that "the guy over there sitting on his own watching people creeps me out". Predictably we all turned to look at him just as his gaze swept over us. Our attempt at nonchalance turned out to be unsuccessful. Seeking escape and an empty bladder, I headed to the toilets. On my way back I got some more drinks and while ordering the bartender put his hand on my shoulder - 'swoon'.
I'd just sat down again when a yelp erupted from the front of the bar, followed rapidly by snarling and then the kind of growl a dog makes when it's got hold of something it intends to keep hold of. It seems that the young blond in tennis shorts had stepped on the dog - no mean feat when it was waist high - and the dog had exercised its constitutional right to defend itself. With some help from the owners, tennis shorts managed to extricate his leg and then spent a gratuitous length of time examining his calf for wounds. The dog hadn't drawn blood and as far as I could see there wasn't even a mark. Still this was great entertainment and we got down to the critical business of laughing about it at once.
A figure loomed over our table.
"Hi guys. I like to say hello whenever people notice me. Most people don't."
Mr Creepy had come over to share pleasantries. This was as clear and present a danger as any of us had ever experienced. We sat stunned, until a flash of inspiration from one of our party delivered us from the brink of mortal embarrassment: "Did you see what happened with the dog?"
Creepy apparently had.
"The little gay boy tripped over the dog and it got him by the leg. Then he was all worried about the damage. There wasn't even blood."
We nodded manically as he went on.
"He's just whining and complaining that they shouldn't have a dog in the bar. It was nothing."
It was at this point that his nasal rant turned peculiar: "I mean think about the cavemen."
We thought about the cavemen, but enlightenment was not forthcoming. Fortunately creepy continued without waiting for us to catch up.
"They didn't give a shit about things likes this. That's why I'm bisexual."
One of humanity's greatest thinkers dwells in this very town and it is to our shame, nay the shame of the entire human race, that we will never understand him. Born before his time he is destined to wonder 'gay friendly' bars with his wisdom falling on deaf ears.
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