We happened to secure a table underneath 2 televisions, in which Olympics extravaganza was blaring. You know what it's like to sit under a television in a bar; every time you glance around, all eyes SEEM to be on you, but they aren't, really.
So, after some time, Mel, sitting on one side of the table alone, confides in us: "I feel like this chick behind me is staring a hole through my head, every time I glance around the bar, everyone at the table behind is turned around looking this way." She knew, of course, the TV situation. We are not a catty lot. As I was laughing and assuring her, "they're watching the Olympics..." the woman behind her got up and stormed our table:
"Rest assured, that even though you three are SO LOVELY that I might WANT to watch you all night, I was just looking for a friend who was to appear on TV tonight!!"
!!! Did I say "!!!"
Mel tried to explain what we'd said, but the other woman said, "I've clearly offended you!!" and she put her coat on and huffed out.
When I was 22, this would probably have made me cry. Might I just say that I appreciate being
And still I contemplate how some people are just happier if they can find something to be outraged about. Good for her, we made her day.
As long as we're talking about The Esquire, then, I will reveal a creepy secret that few male customers are aware of: The Troll Hole!!!
This is the downstairs lady's room at The Esquire:
This little half-sized door is not normally open; I had to open it to check that no drunk, crazed, rapin' and pillagin' troll was hiding inside. I have to open it every time I use this restroom, to check; for who on earth would willingly pull down their pants to pee NOT knowing for sure that The Troll Hole is unoccupied? Not me!
I actually haven't used the downstairs bathroom for years because of it; I just risked my life for blog-fodder.
Thank you. Thank you very much.
I await all local comments, male and female.