Last night I was out with my friend Matt, as well as a couple of adorable young gay men I met out a few weeks ago, who I have continued a texting relationship with. After drinking my first long island, I went outside to answer a phone call, a 614 number that I don't recognize but assume is probably a gay man I met out at Union or Level.
It's not unusual for me to give my phone number out like candy - and the number of gay men in my phone with made up last names as descriptors of who they are so I can remember them, probably adds up to more than the number of nights I've gone out.
For example, Randy Soca - a gay dentist from SOuthern CAlifornia, who bought me drinks at karaoke night once. He told me if I ever visited his area I should call and stay with him.
Shawn Feminist - a boy I met at Exile, a Columbus bear bar. Shawn backed me up in an argument I had about feminism with another boy there.
The list goes on. One thing that I DON'T generally do (er...anymore) is handout my number to straight guys, particularly when I'm more focused on meeting women. So last night, when I answered my phone for a stranger, I assumed it was someone fun that I met out one night who wanted to see if I was out that night.
Unfortunately for me, it was Charles. Who is Charles, you ask? Well, that's what I tried to figure out during this conversation:
"Hello"
"Stephanie?"
"Yes...who is this?"
"It's Charles."
"Oh ok, hi Charles. Who are you?"
"We met out at a bar recently."
"How long ago?"
"Like, a month ago."
"What bar?"
"I don't know... some bar on High street."
"Union? Or Level maybe?"
"I've never heard of either of those bars."
At this point I realize it's unlikely that Charles is a fun gay men that I met out at a gay bar, and I rack my brain trying to remember the last time I gave my number out to a boy who was actually trying to sleep with me. I'll admit - my terrible sober memory is not exactly enhanced when I drink, so it's possible that I gave out my number without remembering. But knowing that I haven't been to any bars that are not explicitly gay bars in a while, and the only time I can think of I was sober - I'm pretty sure I'd remember giving out my number to some straight boy. Still, he has my number, and thinking that it's unlikely one of my friends started handing out my cell to strangers on the street, trying to get me laid, I continue talking with Charles and trying to place who the hell this person is.
"They're gay bars. I didn't meet you at a gay bar?"
"Oh. Oh, you're gay?"
"No I'm bi."
"Really..."
This is the point where I realize, if I DID give my number to Charles, it was a gross misjudgment on my part. Occasionally while drinking, I legitimately believe that it is 100% possible for me to be friends with anyone in the world, and that people are not trying to get in my pants. Having sworn off men a little over a month ago, I'm baffled by the fact that this person says he met me out a month ago when he got my number. For your information - I have since UN-sworn off men, but I'm positive that I haven't given my number to any straight boys since I made that decision last week. The chatting goes on:
"Yes but I don't want to have a threesome with you. So, you cant remember where we met?"
"Not exactly, just out somewhere."
"Do you remember what I look like?"
"I mean, I know you're short."
"What was I wearing?"
"I don't remember, but you looked good."
"What did we talk about when we met?"
"Why are you giving me the third degree?"
"Because I don't know who you are, and you have my phone number."
"It sounds like you're out right now, why don't I come by and if you don't remember me, I'll leave."
"I mean sure, I'm out at a gay bar. If you want to come by, that's fine."
"You sure you're not gay?"
"Yes, but I really appreciate your concern for whether I'm aware of my sexual preferences."
"You're bi?"
"Yes. But I'm not going to have a threesome with you."
I then proceeded to give him directions to the bar I was at, not an easy task considering I was one long island in and have never once needed to know the address of Union.
If you're thinking now that it would've been a good idea for me to hang up around the time Charles sounded intrigued by bisexuality (not that I'm against threesomes per se, but it's not what I'm looking for in life right now) - then I'd have to agree with you. But, the night is young and who knows, maybe Charles is hot?
10 minutes later, Charles calls me. Thanks to the sound advice of Matt and one of his friends whose name I can't remember, I don't answer my phone. I text Charles and tell him to come inside, and he texts me back and says he'll be there in a minute, and he's wearing a brown jacket. I position myself near the window but hidden by my friends, watching for an awkward straight man to enter the gay bar. In preparation, I turn my phone off and put it in my pocket, not wanting Charles to be able to immediately identify me as the person he was communicating with.
A familiar-looking, but not attractive man in a brown jacket, perhaps in his late 30's walks into Union.
"Oh no, you are NOT talking to him," Matt tells me, and while I appreciate the echoes of the two other people sitting with us that he is not cute, I still have sound enough judgment to realize this for myself.
The next part of the story I'm going to tell you, I'll admit, I wasn't proud of when I woke up this morning. Other factors have since changed this, so I need you to take my word here that I'm not a terrible person until the rest of the story comes together and you realize that for yourself.
My friends and I watch Charles walk around the bar looking for me, we watch him call me and text me until he takes an empty seat at the bar. Charles looks around, trying to identify this mysterious short girl that he met a month or so ago. Since I'm sitting down, my short stature is not immediately identifiable, and at the suggestion of a friend, I have balled up my jacket and am sitting on it to give me a little extra height.
Realizing that I am standing Charles up, I feel a twinge of guilt for not just saying "No" on the phone when he wanted to meet me at the bar. But I still can't place who this guy is, and 90% sure that I did not give him my number, I'm too sketched out to just politely walk over, introduce myself as Stephanie, and reject him. Even if I had decided to, I suspect my friends would have stopped me. As Matt pointed out, this was at least an entertaining night at the bar. Having finished 1 and a half Long Islands (they're 3 dollars at Union on Thursdays...), I reason that while standing people up is mean, we might as well enjoy a laugh or two at the creepy situation.
Charles begin walking around the bar again, and I wonder if he's going to ask every girl for her name. So, I tell my friends that my new name is "Liz," and make up a fake life to go along with my fake name. I was one of Matt's RAs last year but I graduated with my BA in psychology. I took a year off before applying to graduate school, and am currently working at the Target in Olentangy Plaza until I can find something that pays better. I do a little bit of chatting with people I know while trying to avoid eye contact with Charles, but I continue to try to place who this familiar face is if I know I didn't give him my number.
Eventually Charles made friends with a group of girls, chatted with them for a while, and in Charles' moment of distraction, Matt practically throws me in front of his conveniently tall stature and ushers me out of the bar.
Waking up this morning with a slew of texts and missed calls from Charles, I again feel a twinge of guilt for standing someone up. I contemplate texting him and saying Sorry, I dropped my phone in a Long Island and had to get a new one this morning. But no, I decide, it's better to avoid talking to him ever again if all I would do is tell him Sorry, but I'm still not interested.
I hop in the shower (dangerous, I know), and luckily for me, this is where I do my best thinking. Reflecting on my recent terrible job of online dating and deciding whether I want to date people or not, as well as telling someone to come find me at the bar and then hiding from him, I wonder whether I'm a terrible person.
An image of Charles flashes into my head, and aligns with a memory of just over a month ago. I have a flashback of Charles moving my bedframe into my apartment, and I realize that Charles is one of the men sent by a moving company I hired when I moved into my new apartment.
I did NOT meet Charles at a bar, nor did I give him my number. This fucker took my cell phone number from work a month ago, and doesn't even have the decency to remember stealing it. Charles texted me the day after I moved into my apartment, saying "Hey it was nice meeting you yesterday, let me know when the partys at lolz."
I never responded to this text, or bothered saving Charles number. Annoyed as all hell that this guy took the liberty of taking my phone number from work, I had considered calling his boss to complain, but I eventually reasoned that not talking to him would work just as well without getting him in trouble.
I guess it's a good thing Charles doesn't remember where he got my number, and thinks I gave it to him willingly at a bar. If he were to place how we actually met, he might realize that he knows where I live. A sense of relief washes over me as I realize I was completely justified in being creeped out by this jackass, and just maybe, I'm not a completely insensitive bitch.
No comments:
Post a Comment