The Sex Clown I Encountered

So this sex-crazed Looney Tune came into my bar the other night. It was awesome.

Since I started working here I have had made so many observations on the human condition. I’m actually in the middle of a really awesome social experiment and I can’t wait for all of the results to come in. But that’s another post for another time.

Back to the sex-crazed Looney Tune, who we’re all here to see.

This guy was nuts. I mean really nuts. I don’t think he is mentally handicapped, because I think that would be an insult to mentally handicapped individuals. This guy was just raised like shit.

It is not okay, after making only a few minutes of casual small talk with your waitress, to invite her over to your place. I had to drop the “I have a boyfriend” line. (Side note: I shouldn’t have used that line. “No, I’m simply not interested,” should have been enough)

His response? “I’m not the jealous type.”

So my new friend then asks me for my phone number. Here’s another point where I screwed up: instead of taking this opportunity to make it clear that I didn’t want to give him my number because I had no interest in him, I told him that I don’t give my number out to strangers. He told me that he just got a new phone yesterday and didn’t have his number memorized yet. I told him that he’ll just have to wait until he comes back to the bar during one of my shifts to give it to me.

Later, while I’m rolling silverware, he comes up to me to hit on me a bit more. Like really hit on me. Because, clearly, if he only tried a little harder, I would change my mind. He somehow forgot that I already told him I wouldn’t give him my number, so he asked for it again. I told him “No.” Again. Then he sat down and reached for some of my silverware to start rolling with me. Besides the fact that it just seemed inappropriate to let a customer roll silverware, I was far too tired and didn’t want to let this guy, who I far from trusted, do my job for me. After telling him not to roll the silverware four freaking times, I finally reached across the table and had to pull them from his hands.

This is the stuff your waitresses get to deal with at the end of their shifts.

After getting my silverware back, he then looks at me and says something to the effect of “So, I had this idea, and I was thinking… when you got of work…you could come to my place, and, you know…”

I dared him with my eyes to say it. Say it, you fucking creep. That’s what I said. Just, you know, with my eyeballs. Because I’m actually a little bit of a pansy and don’t say things like that to people who deserve it.

He kept alluding to his desire to have sex with me. Again, I told him that I had a boyfriend. And again, he reminded me that he was not the jealous type. How silly of me to forget.

It was at this point that I stopped the friendly waitress act. I gave him blunt responses that didn’t even attempt to hide my fatigue or irritation. I kept doing my job, and his interest to keep the conversation going eventually faded, and he eventually wandered back over to the bar.

Some time later, my new admirer found his way back to me, and just about forces me to write down his number, which he somehow figured out since our last encounter. I wrote it down, then picked it up and showed it to him. I said “You know the chances of me actually dialing this are slim, right?”

He pressed on, encouraging me to hit him up some time. I said “No, I will not be doing that. Also, I told you, I have a boyfriend.”

For the third time, he told me he wasn’t the jealous type. I responded with: “Well I’m the faithful type. So no, I won’t be calling you.”

(I swear, Daniel owes me a freaking cookie for putting up with this nonsense.)

Homeboy snapped. “Well then just give my number to some other fucking slut,” he said.
Cool, so now I’m a “fucking slut.” That’s one way to get a girl.

“How about I give it back to you, so you can give it to some other girl, since you don’t have your number memorized?”

“Just throw it in the fucking garbage. That’s what it is. Garbage.”

He told me over and over again to throw it in the garbage. I wasn’t sure if doing so would piss him off more, and I wasn’t interested in making things escalate more than they already had, so I slowly set the number down on the counter next to us.

He stormed off, back to his friends. He returned to me ten minutes later, as the charming version of himself again, and apologized for getting mad at me. He was still hoping for a chance.

He eventually left the bar, which was good for his physical health, because the bartender was ready to knock him and his idiot friend (who had been irritating others in the bar) out cold.

All that being said, I need to take a moment here and let men in on an insight about women: we don’t all think you’re all creeps and perverts. I know the rest of the customers and restaurant staff well enough to know that anyone of the other people in the bar that night would have kicked that guy’s ass if he took his behavior to the next level, and I think that’s amazing. I felt more than protected. I’ve been lucky enough to encounter lots and lots of awesome men in my life, and I just wanna thank you if you’re one of the guys who would have kicked that guy’s ass.

I only wish I had kept his number so we could all harass him.