James Rigdon remembers you, and he’d like to say what he couldn’t that night.
Hey, you don’t know me, but I’m that guy who was sitting by himself near the corner. I don’t doubt that you wouldn’t remember me, given that most of the time I saw you, it was somewhat difficult to tell where one body ended and the other began.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not angry at you for your public display of affection, I’d just like to make a few pretty simple requests/suggestions. It’s just little stuff, no need to worry.
First, while I know this town is hardly as civilized as many parts of the modern world… okay, most people in this town probably still struggle with the proper use of eating utensils, to say nothing of the necessity of regular bathing. Anyway, while this isn’t the culture capital of the western world, there are a few points of decorum I’d like to request of you.
For example, if I can hear your moans of pleasure over the noise of the bar and the over-loud jukebox, and the bartender can’t hear me because of them, you’re being rather loud in your amorous endeavors. Kindly bring the volume down a trifle, yeah? It becomes rather intolerable, otherwise, and it’s kind of rude to the rest of us who are just trying to get service at the bar.
Second, I realize that you probably didn’t notice nor care, but I’m sitting here alone, I don’t really know that many people in this town, so I’m not talking to anyone, just watching Sportscenter and/or reading on my phone, and, well, it’s somewhat insensitive to be all over one another in front of me and everyone else around who are not there with a significant other. Don’t mistake this- I’m hardly the morality police when it comes to that sort of thing, it would be bad form indeed were I to demand that you not physically interact whatsoever, and I’m not. Just, you know, come up for air once in a while. This is a bar, not an orgy.
And while we’re on that area, I’d like to also point out that there were a number of tables in a more private area that were completely open for your use- employment of those would make life a lot better for all of us, and allow you more freedom of movement without risk of bumping into people as they pass by. I’m sure that guy whose gut you nearly impaled as you adjusted position was understanding, but you might consider how you would feel, were the situation reversed.
Moving on, and I don’t mean to harp on this kind of thing, but that bar is where our drinks are served, where people sit or lean while waiting. I think I speak for all patrons when I say that, given where your hands were throughout that exchange, there’s a likelihood that you were leaving certain bodily fluids on the chair and the bar, and we’d rather not have to dabble in those once you’ve moved on. Sanitary areas make for healthy clientele, right?
Finally, while this might not seem too important, but, in your vertical wrestling match, which I am certain was enjoyable, you came very close to knocking over my drink three times. Had it not been for my quick reflexes, there would have been a bigger mess than you were already making, and, likely, it would have been myself or the bartender that would have had to clean it up, given that I doubt you’d have noticed, and then we’d have had to interrupt your tryst to inform you that you owed me a beverage, which likely would have resulted in some kind of squabble, and that might well have ended badly for all of us, possibly shut down the whole bar. I cannot say for certain if the same fate occurred on the other side of you, but, given that you were sitting right in between two people who were there first, I don’t doubt the probability.
In conclusion, I know that hormones rage and you’re obviously pleased with your physical connection which was, doubtless, encouraged by your liquor intake, but for the love of holy Jesus, get a fucking room and quit making out on the damn barstool next to me!
That guy beside whom you so kindly chose to sit.
Previously published at Adventures of Shamus.
Photo: Angie Garrett/Flickr