I went back to the bar last night—it had been a while—and as soon as I sat down the squirrelly guy who wouldn’t leave me alone to the point of making me angry three Fridays ago was next to me, asking me if I remembered him (the way my annoyance flared up as soon as he started talking to me was a sign that I did), giving me the hard sell on why I should hang out with him. The people who had helped extricate him from my immediate sphere last time weren’t there, so I was on my own as far as getting him to buzz off, and I was annoyed because I just wanted to drink my fucking Campari and soda (they were out of grapefruit) and think about all the dumb things that had happened recently and that were probably around the corner in peace and instead this guy was fucking Herb Tarleking me on himself: Blah blah blah why I am awesome blah blah blah why you should like me blah blah blah. It went on for probably not a long time but enough of an interval for me to reach my limit, at which point I said, probably pretty drunkenly because I’d been out for about 12 hours at this point, ”Don’t you think you’d do better if you were just, like, you, and you tried to talk to me as a person instead of giving me a sales pitch on yourself?” He looked at me dumbfounded and kept going.
I mean to be fair it wouldn’t have worked. But, you know, lessons for next time and all.