Late night Irish adventures plentiful at the Black Box
October 18, 2012
Those of you that have had the experience of meeting me, know that I am not very good looking.
I look like a barnacle on the side of a shipping freighter. If you don’t know what a barnacle looks like, try and find me, I’m easy to spot, but not easy on the eyes.
Being that I look like a scary sea creature, I’ve always had trouble socializing with women.
No matter how I approach them, they are always uncomfortable with me.
I don’t blame them, I boast a cantankerous sense of humor. Sometimes I say things that are out-of-line and that don’t exactly make sense. It’s who I am, for good or better, I haven’t a clue.
In January I traveled to Ireland. I showed the Irish just how ineffective I was at socializing with women. Here’s what happened:
I wheeled into a local pub and ordered a pint of Guinness. Suddenly my Guinness vanished from my glass (I downed it).
I stared like a fool into a crowd of women but had no nerve to go and dance with them. It was kinda creepy to admit, but that is how it went.
Then I had a dose of “courage” one of the locals fetched it for me. Great stuff whiskey. It’s good for you. Well, that’s what my Irish friend said.
After the whiskey, the pub started to get lively with a local band of musicians.
I was feeling brave. I noticed a female sitting all alone, a local I guessed. She was the gazelle and I, the handicapped lion.
I went up to her and the band started playing. She couldn’t hear me but ignored me. Either way.
I started to feel absolutely fabulous, or as the Irish say, “Ab Fab.” Great music. Excellent people.
Then this bloke approached me from the corner of the bar and he invited me back to his place for a some hanky panky.
I laughed and I told him he’s not my type. He got offended. He said to me, “Who is your type fat man?”
I simply pointed to the nearest available female.
He asked if I was straight.
I reassured him I couldn’t be any straighter. I am straighter than a four-by-four that has been leveled and run through a planer hundreds of times. I am like George Clooney, I said to him, but without the looks, money or sex appeal. You get the point.
Another guy hit on me.
I was shaken. In the two hours that I had been at the pub, two people had tried to woo me, both of them men, not women. That sort of ratio is detrimental to any man’s self-confidence. I decided to leave this pub.
Not knowing the city, I looked at a local map. I decided upon the Black Box, it had a catchy name.
I took a taxi there. When I told the driver where I wanted to go, he gave me an odd look.
I entered the Black Box and ordered a pint. The bartender said, “A pint? Come now, you must be wanting something a bit more tasty than a pint?”
I changed my order to a strawberry cider (strawberries and vodka). This pub had a great atmosphere and an excellent band.
In the next 30 minutes, 10 men walked up and hit on me. I asked the bartender why the men kept coming up to me. I gasped. I had wheeled into a gay bar.
I laughed and finished my drink. I told the barman to call a taxi. While I waited, I ordered another drink. The taxi arrived. I did’t get into the taxi.
To my surprise, I stayed at the bar and drank cider all night.
Let me state, on the record, I’m in full support of the LGBTQ community. Love is love and there should be absolutely nothing keeping anyone from that.
Our society claims to not judge and qualify on the merits of race, sex and sexual orientation, but obviously we do judge. Gay marriage is not legal, and if I hadn’t mistakenly wheeled into that pub, I would have never had the opportunity to taste cider.
Tyler Smith is a student at UW-River Falls.