I went to a bar with three of my girlfriends to blow off some steam from the week. As we sat in the corner drinking Cosmopolitans, two older men in their 30s stumbled into the bar and sat next to my friend Tricia. One guy staggered his way over to her side and pathetically attempted to sway and woo her as the rest of us giggled at his ill attempts to win her heart, or her time.
After 10 minutes of pounding her ear, the man (named Eric) switched victims and came prancing over to my chair. Big mistake.
I was at the bar because I saw an ex boyfriend who I hadn’t seen in 7 months and 2 nights (yes, I know the time distance exactly, it’s just that bad) prior and some drinks were needed, but creepy wasted-face older men were definitely not.
Eric proceeded to hold onto my back and chair to steady his stumbling self and ask me “what I did with my life.” Being that I was immediately annoyed and extremely too sober to deal with this, I told him I worked for a local magazine, which I do but in an internship capacity.
He then told me that he had been recently fired from that same magazine and that he hated the company, and because I worked there, now hated me too.
As I scrambled to defend my place of employment, he further told me the only reason I got my job was because I was beautiful, I had no brains, I had fallen into the “magazine agenda,” and that all the men working with me only had me there so they could “eventually do me.”
Shocked into silence as he ranted and raved, I whispered these tender words of threat: “I’m going to tell you this once. Get the fuck away from me and please do not ever speak to me again.”
He then told me I was a bitch and had “small titties.” Appalled at his lack of class, I shot back with “Oh, you must have been the loon they changed the locks for at the office!”
This provoked drunken slurs of “fuck you” and “small tittie girl.” I then stood on my stool and screamed for the bartenders to get the creep away from me before “I broke his legs.” Four bartenders had to escort him and his wasted friend from the bar, which he would try to re-enter five more times before the cops were finally called.
After the police finally took him away in their car, the bar manager came to my side he told me, “Don’t feel bad about him making fun of your boobs …he told me I had small balls….”
At first I hated this night but ended up laughing hysterically, drinking too many Cosmos, and making friends with the bartenders to the point where I’ll always be known to them as “little titties.”
*Posted by AWKWARD contributor
Giavanna Ippolito
Temple University
tua04031@temple.edu
