“So do you like big guys?”
“Um…” I had no idea where he was going with this.
“Big guys like me?” He considers himself “big”? Amazing! He is round, definitely, but hardly what I’d call big. Round and short like a ball, not big like a tree (that I’d like to climb). His body had always reminded me of Bob’s Big Boy. It didn’t help that he dresses like a five year-old; I had only ever seen him in striped polo shirts tucked into shorts.
He looks like a giant, balding child. His remaining hair is frosted. What better way to tell the world that you’re delusional than by putting blond highlights in your waning hair ring?
I answered that big guys are great and that I prefer them and then asked him what he did that day. He was being nice and I felt like I should have some compassion for him. Plus I was curious how this manbaby who’s never had to work a day in his life killed time before he could start irritating each bartender in his quadrant. He would be 86’d from every bar if mom and dad didn’t own the buildings they were in. In a way, it’s comforting that I’m just one of many people to get beckoned across rooms with dramatic hand gestures and cringe at that high-pitched giggle.
“My parents own a property management company, so I helped over there for a while.”
I imagined a secretary speaking slowly and enunciating every syllable, “I have a very special job for you today.” I pictured a quiet office, the hour hand on the clock slowly crawling by, and then an eruption of giggling. I saw a doughy hand raised in the air, proudly displaying a very long chain of paper clips, “I did it! Look! Look what I did!” Then I pictured the secretary letting him pick out a sticker and a lollipop. I knew that one sticker wouldn’t be enough and that she would sigh and hand over the whole sheet before he could remind her who his parents were.
He asked me how many boyfriends I have. I asked him how many girlfriends he has, wondering about women with far more patience than I. He told me that his girlfriend works at Nordstrom and wants him to hook up with her friend but he doesn’t want to go out with her friend. I asked if he was talking about a threesome, but no, his “girlfriend” really was just trying to pawn him off on someone else. What had she gotten herself into? I hoped that she was actually able to extract money for her trouble. I said that he should give the friend a chance and he told me that her nose is too big.
He was only buying a dance from me because I told him that I wasn’t interested in talking to him ever again. I really meant it, but since he was insisting on getting a dance immediately to show that he was sorry, I figured I could at least get $20 first. The reason that he was cut off was because he likes to play games. Withholding games using money. Games where he would ask for dances and change his mind and then change his mind back and then change his mind again.
He apologized before the song started and explained that he had been drunk, which goes without saying. I was looking at the perfect storm of wet brain and arrested development due to privilege. Plus he seemed like he must have been dropped on his head at some point. I did feel sorry for him.
When he went to pay me, two twenties stuck together and he grabbed the second one out of my hand like an animal. “I almost paid you for two!” He was giggling, “I won one hundred and ninety dollars on video poker today! Can you believe that!?”
“No.” Why didn’t I ever win?
“I only put ten in!”
As we walked back to the bar, he insisted on buying me a drink. No amount of “I don’t drink at all” was acknowledged, so I gave up and told the bartender to pour me something top shelf. I figured I might as well help sales and dump his money down the bathroom sink.
I went to the computer to pick out songs for my next stage set and he followed me. “Guess what I bought yesterday?” He giggled, asking my back. I continued to scroll.
“Go on! Guess!”
“I don’t know.”
“GUESS!”
“Okay, what?”
“A 911 Porsche Carrera!!!”
“Why…?” I didn’t even turn around. What did he want me to do, beg him to take me for a spin? Ask to honk the horn?
“Because I can afford it!!” He giggled furiously.
“Cool beans. I have to go to the dressing room now. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I was almost prepared to explain that he couldn’t follow me in there. Then I would have to explain that by explaining the difference between girls and boys.
I came out and saw that he was getting a dance from another girl. For some reason it irritated me. My dance was to make up for bad behavior, but she got a dance just because? When she was on stage, he latched onto me again.
“Let me get you a drink! Any drink! How about something with vodka? You like vodka!?”
“I just had a drink. What I really want is food.” Smelling everyone else’s food had caused me to realize how hungry I was. I suddenly felt starving.
“Get a drink! What do you want? Do you want me to order for you?!”
“How about you buy me dinner, okay?” I grabbed a menu and started to open it.
“I’m not going to buy you everything on the menu!”
“I wasn’t planning on ordering everything on the menu…”
“Okay, well just take this and get yourself something.” He dropped $4 on top of the menu.
“I can’t get anything with this. I’ll put it towards something I want then.”
He snatched it back and started to protest. I stood up, towering over him. “This is what I’m talking about! These are your bullshit games! This is a bullshit game!”
I left him whining and stammering and sat a few seats down, joining in on a conversation between the bartender and a few regulars, the other people who were used to ignoring him. Defeated, he waddled to a video poker machine, probably spent more than $4 and then left, not even looking back. Some part of him understands that nobody likes him enough to say goodbye.