I have a friend who I'll call Charlie. Charlie likes women and he likes to drink. Not a bad philosophy if you ask me. Anyway, one night our group decided that we should go to a gay club. It was a little outside Charlie (and my) comfort zone, but we agreed to at least give it a chance. The problem was, the balance between the two core principles of our lives (women and drinking) would be slightly off. This called for an adjustment. We figured less girls meant only one thing- we needed more alcohol.
On the way to grab some drinks, we talked about what we thought it would be like in the club.
“You think any girls will be there?” I asked.
“Probably. Girls love hanging around gay guys. I bet there are a bunch of them with their guards down,” he said.
“Your pickup line could be, “Hey baby, guess what? I'm not gay.”
“You never know, that might work. We're going to be a hot commodity. You'll see.”
Of course, we really had no idea what to expect. Especially from the guys. Were we going to get hit on? It sounds ridiculous, and it's not the most rational thought to have, but there it was, in the back of both our minds.
“I'm sure guys don't approach just anyone,” I said.
“I wonder if they'll be able to tell we're straight.”
“The club's going to be dark, so I doubt it,” I said.
“What if we got them to buy us drinks?” he said, laughing.
“We could make a contest out of it,” I said. “Whoever gets the most free drinks wins.”
“And after you get your drink, you just say, “Thanks, but you're not really my type.”
“Perfect.”
So we bought our not-free drinks and headed back to the apartment. Once the whole group got “prepared” for the night ahead, we set out in search of the club. It was a few metro stops away. Sadly, when we got there, the club was closed. Bummer. Then, we noticed another club right down the block. Men were lined up outside the door. I have to say, it looked pretty gay to me.
We got in the line, and it shrank quickly. We made our way past the bouncer and into the club. A dark stairway led down to a bar and dance floor. I scanned the crowded room. I didn't see many girls with their “guards down.” I didn't see many girls at all. There were three girls in our group, thereby making the total in the club at least five. We squeezed through the crowd and onto the dance floor. Guys were everywhere, but none of them approached me or Charlie. Not to buy us drinks. Not even to dance. I would've turned them down anyway, but it was still kind of disappointing. I mean, I thought I looked good, but I guess I was wrong.
I noticed Charlie had found two girls, and was chatting them up. I could tell from their body language that it was not going well (it turned out they were lesbians). Charlie wobbled back to our group, defeated. It looked like he was starting to feel the alcohol, too. He got up on stage with one of our girls and began to dance. While dancing, he was somehow able to bum a cigarette and a light off of two different guys. Finally, some success. Unfortunately, Charlie wasn't in the best state to be smoking. A couple of us noticed embers and ashes fluttering down from his cigarette onto one of the girls' hair. The embers caught. We saw it and pounced. We were able to put it out before anything serious happened, but the result was a burned hand for one unlucky member of our group.
Charlie vanished for a few minutes, and the rest of us kept dancing. After a little while we decided to go look for him. We found him, but he wasn't in one place for long- he was being hauled out by the bouncer. A door slammed shut behind the two of them, and they were gone. Oh god.
We all agreed that it would be best to leave the club. We picked up our coats and made our way to the door. Outside, Charlie was leaning against the wall, looking unhappy. We began to walk home and piece the story together. Apparently, Charlie had run into a waiter who was carrying a tray full of drinks. The tray of drinks ended up on the ground, and Charlie ended up outside. Charlie said the waiter had rushed around the corner, and it wasn't his fault. He was angry about the whole thing, too.
“Damn it, I could've whooped the bouncer's ass!” he said. “He was 5'1''! FIVE FOOT ONE!”
There's nothing that gets the rage flowing quite like being thrown out of a gay club by a tiny bouncer. We might've teased Charlie a little, too.
“The bouncer definitely could've taken you,” someone said. “You're lucky you didn't fight back.”
“I could've stomped him! I could've hit him with a stick!” Charlie said.
“You couldn't pick up a stick right now.”
“Whatever. Screw all of you.”
We looked back at Charlie and laughed. He stumbled from one side of the walkway to the other.
“Look on the bright side- you got a free cigarette out of the deal,” I said. “It's not exactly a drink, but I'd still say you won our contest.”
“One cigarette? Are you kidding me?” he said. He laughed. “I got at least three.”
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