A Brief Evening In a Pub

Well, I got talked into meeting Beth, my friend/coworker, at a pub after work yesterday. I don’t know when the last time I went to a tavern after work on Friday. Maybe never. I went to bars a couple of times on Fridays in college, after classes, but not in the last few years after work.

We sat at the bar. I started off with nachos and a glass of their red wine. Glancing around, I think I was the only person drinking wine. I never was much of a beer drinker. Anyway, the pub was about half full when we got there, but in seemingly no time the place became pretty crowded. Beth and I talked about work mostly. I try not to complain about work, especially my fellow employees, but they recently hired a person whose second language is English, and due to his many simple mistakes, I have wondered if he is functionally illiterate. Anyway, he was the target of most of my complaining.

We had been there at the bar for about a half hour or so when one guy came up and asked if he could buy both Beth and I another round of drinks. He was pretty forward, alone, and looked to be about 20 years old, so his gestured seemed kind of odd, but after Beth gave me a quick glance, she accepted his offer.

We found out his name is Dave and he is an accountant, which given his nice clothing, made perfect sense. He came across as really very funny. He had Beth and I giggling pretty heartily a few times. At one point he asked us if we were Patriot fans, and of course Beth and I quickly, energetically nodded, as though we were saying, “who isn’t a Patriots fan?” It was a reasonably enjoyable conversation until Dave stated that in the second half of the Jets game, the Patriots offense looked like “a bunch of fags”. His words made an instantaneous chill sweep right through me. I immediately wanted Dave, or me, to be somewhere else. Anyway, I told Beth that I had to leave, and that I had promised my parents I would stop by their house; which was not true. Both Beth, and Dave, tried to talk me out of it, but a few minutes after Dave’s “fag” comment, I was out the door.

Now 18 hours later, what is actually kind of distressing is the notion that I was so sensitive about a slur, far more sensitive than a few years ago. I’m not sure if I’m more socially conscious now, or just more easily annoyed by minor things. I guess both possibilities are a sign of maturing and I’m not sure I want to mature. I’ve been immature for a long time and I’ve always kind of liked it. I've got it; it was the two glasses of wine. Yes, of course, I'll blame the vino for my being agitated. Wow, how immature it that?