After waiting in line for what seemed like hours, especially for a Tuesday night, my friend and I finally got into the $1 beer night that we came for. The bouncers gave us crap, like always, because neither of us carries a driver’s license, but a passport instead. My friend’s Israeli passport looks incredibly unreal. I can’t see why someone would go through the trouble of making a passport just so that she could make it into a bar before she turned 21. Her photograph is literally taped into the passport. I seriously cant believe they let us in anywhere with that thing. But for some reason, it’s always mine that gets questioned. Apparently being from Idaho is more rare in New York than being from Tel Aviv.
We talked to some cheap businessmen for a while because they came up to us. One guy threw the other under the bus and said that he’d buy us all a round of drinks. You’re thinking it wasn’t cool of the first guy, but then if you’re working from home and making as much money as the guy claimed he made, there should have been no issue. In reality, this became an argument between the two fellows. This was very unappealing to us because it was $1 beer night. I’m not a gild digger, but if you have to argue about who has to buy two girls a dollars worth of beer, you’re automatically not my type.
As the argument ensued, three sets of legs walked in. I say legs because that’s basically all that was at our eye level. The massive men came directly up to us, though the bar was packed. Maybe it was just convenient for them, as we were clinging to our valuable real estate on bar stools, but we were definitely flattered. They said they were all members of a European basketball team, which I would believe judging by their height. My friend fell in love with—lets be honest—the hottest of the three. I’m the best wing woman ever. My friendship is priceless.
While she adhered to her string bean, I took up entertaining the other two. I could hardly understand either of them because of their thick accents, but they were finer than my grandmother’s china stuffed in storage at home. For some reason I have a really hard time understanding people with accents. Because of this, I’m not one of those girls who absolutely swoon over men with accents. Accents kind of annoy me actually, especially since so many people fake them for attention. We transferred to a bar that served free hot dogs with every shot of shitty vodka. I’m pretty sure it was called The Porker or something along those lines. Here, my friend wouldn’t touch the hot dogs in front of our new fellows. I could have cared less as I ate two to myself. It’s not like we were going to see/talk to these guys ever again.
One of the guys left me to talk to a cross eyed girl. I was upset, but I guess it narrowed my picking down to one. The happy couple started kissing. This really made things awkward for us two “talkers,” especially when they both leaned over and told us that we had to make out because they were PDA-shy. Apparently her guy was the ringleader of the players because upon this order, the Polish gentleman I had been talking to practically got down on his knees to kiss me. There I was, in tall people heaven, making out with a guy who I would never see again. He was completely impossible to understand, but I can’t say that I minded at all.
Always,
Alena Netia Horowitz
