ForTasteSake

On Monday, I went with my usual start-of-the-week companion for our “getting through Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday” ritual of drinking and dining.  We ended up trying out Liberties (705 N. 2nd) because of the happy hour special ($1.50 off everything – drinks and menu).

There were only two people inside when we arrived and parked ourselves on stools at the ornately beautiful, wood bar.  We ordered draughts (Newcastle and Smithwick’s) and food (seasoned waffle fries with cheese) and began talking amongst ourselves.  In walks an overly friendly man (late 30’s, maybe?) in a baja poncho, who proceeds to ruin our evening.  As we try to ignore him during his continuous questions firing our way, it gets increasingly more awkward and uncomfortable.  We get the check, and, apparently, it was right on time.

Man: J, do you dance?

J: No.

Man: Not even at junior prom or senior prom?

J: Nope.

Man: Kellie, how about you?  Do you dance?

Me: Nope.  I don’t dance either.

Man: Are you guys best friends?

J and me: *choking laughter*

Me: Not best friends, no.  Just friends.

Man: Can I come hang out with you tonight?

Me: No.  I think we’re just going to head home.

Man: Can I come with you guys?

J and me: (emphatically) No.

The turn that the conversation took, starting with the best friends comment, led us to believe that he thought we were going home together and had a different type of relationship than we do.  A type that he wanted to be a part of. Definitely more than I was expecting during a Monday happy hour.