I foolishly stopped by there tonight after my late movie let out for a snack and was molested by a drunk person. Since it was a Sunday, I kind of hoped I wouldn't have to deal with any of the usual late night inebriated folks at Denny's. Whatever happened to abstaining on a holy day, dammit?
So anyway, I went there for a milkshake. And maybe some fries. What was that? What about a diet? Shut up, I'm telling this story. Anyway, I had my book, or as I call it, my "fuck off, people" shield and was happily reading about the smutty exploits of some hellion bent on being ravished by a rake when some guy, who was sitting nearby with a group of drunken clots, started calling out to me. "Hey, miss, you, in the green shirt! Hey!"
I ignored him. Sometimes, if you ignore the drunk people, they forget why they were calling you and move on to molesting the syrup containers. Alas, he was a persistent little bugger.
Eventually, he came and sat down across from me at my table. He looked like a stereotypical jock/frat boy type, with his backwards baseball cap, Abercrombie and Fitch t-shirt, khakis and vacant expression. I gave him a frosty, frosty look over the cover of my book and asked him what he wanted.
What he wanted, apparently, was my name. I told him. He then laughed and said, "Are you sure, 'cause I thought your name was Sexy!" My look dropped a few degrees to ball shriveling, but alas, he was impervious. So, I told him that 'Sexy' was, in fact, my middle name because, sometimes, if ignoring them doesn't work, confounding them does.
He was confounded and he did go back to his table, but he started talking to me again, asking me questions and generally being an ass. His friends, at least the slightly less drunk ones, kept trying to get him to shut up, but he was really on a roll. "Hey do you fool around? Do you want to? Hey, do you want a boyfriend?"
At one point, he dropped a sugar packet and told me, "Hey, I think you dropped your name tag. See, it says Sugar!"
Oh my Lord.
He even made a bet with his friends that he could get my phone number. Well, I am one frosty bitch because I cost him $10.00. I didn't even bother giving him a fake number. Why encourage him at all?
Now, some of you might be thinking, "Why weren't you nice to him? He could have been a good guy!"
Perhaps. But honestly, do I really believe that I could possibly find the (sloppy drunk and stupid) love of my life at Denny's? Have my standards dropped that low? I'd like to think not.
I'm sure this fellow, who introduced himself as "Matt" with a damp handshake, will make some drunk freshman sorority pledge very happy. If she doesn't press charges in the morning.
