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The Curse of the Chubbies before/after "Guy!! Hey!!! Guy!!!" The fat chicks were starting to get unruly and aggressive. I had been sitting at the bar, waiting for the better part of an hour waiting for Don's band to start playing. Two fat, unkind, and definitely not attractive girls sat kitty corner across the bar, and had fixated on me in a hazy delusion. The short trollish one had approached me earlier, attempting to disturb my stoicism. I had felt a tug on my shirt. It was she who resembled a toadstool, or rather a fire-plug. The type of girl my father used to say, "put some shoulder pads on her, and she'd make a heckuva linebacker". I turned to look at my accoster. "What does your shirt say? I just want to see what your shirt says." So I showed her, being polite. It says, 'I do whatever the voices in my head tell me to.' She slowly read it, and I felt negativity, although from where I could not tell. Like it was seeping through the air vents. "Okay, cool. My friend...She and I...just wanted to know." she said. "Right on." I said, and bounced the ball back, "What does yours say?" Every tragic hero has a fatal flaw. Mine is apparently being social. She unzipped her sweatshirt, and framed her ample, yet assuredly cellulite filled breasts for me in a manner that was supposed to be seductive, but was much like watching a train wreck. I have no recollection of what it said. I do not care what it said. Sometimes the banter instinct should be ignored. She mumbled something and finished with, "You should come over and sit with us." All my life, I've been indulgent in these situations. In high school, I danced with girls I have no attraction towards because they have the courage to ask. In college at parties, and in general, I was always social with those types. I've always felt bad for the obese and homely girls, because I've seen what guys can do and say to them, just on the basis of their unnattractiveness. Its sad, but it is the natural selection of the dating pool. As such, perhaps I handled the situation poorly. "Uhhh, maybe later. I'm sitting on a lot of coats." And she trudged back to her friend, and they continued to eye me like hyenas on the Serenghetti. Some time and drinks had passed, and now, apparently was when they were to make their graceless move. "Guy?" I said, arching an eyebrow. "Guy with the shirt!!! You!!! Come over here!!!" the short narrow eyed one shouted. "But I'm so comfortable here." I said, flashing a smile, indicating a polite blow off. "I think he's scared of you." her ogre like friend pipped up,"Yeah, he's scared of you." "You are exactly right. I am terrified." I said, and shifted my focus back to the band. A few songs went by, and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. It was a quick affair. I was alone. As I walked out, I saw the ogre say to the troll, after what appeared to be both of them eyeing up the men's room, with great aplomb, "I'm going in there." I think she meant to corner me in the restroom, although I cannot be sure. She definitely shifted her path after she realized I was out. Perhaps this is rampant paranoia. It would have been ugly. "Find your happy place. Find your happy place." Unfortunately, it was not over. I watched a few more songs, and got another beer. Again I felt a tug on my sleeve. It was the troll. What fucking bridge did you climb out from under. The band was playing loud. She tried to talk to me, but I had no understanding. She grabbed a napkin and started scrawling. She scrawled. 'I'm not hitting on you.' I looked at her, and said, "Okay." The band finished their song. "Its just...its just...you sit there, and its obvious you enjoy the music sooo much, and you're like a statue." she stumbled. "Uh-huh." I said. She sputtered and dropped her head on the bar. "I mean, you're so...so-" The band started again. She scrawled 'like a statue' on her napkin. I nodded, trying to understand where she was going, and failing. They finished their song. "Its like you're sitting there, hating life..." she said. "I don't hate life." I said simply. Her head hit the bar again. The band started playing, and finshed before she could legibly scrawl anything. "I'm not hitting on you. I think you're cute, but I'm not hitting on you." she said. "Okaaaay. What are you trying to say?" I said, patiently. Her head hit the bar one more time as she sputtered. "Its like you're...you're an island." she said. "That's probably about right." I said. She sputtered again, pushing into me some more. The band started playing. She started scrawling. She scrawled, 'I'm not hitting on u.', once again. The band stopped playing. "I'm not hitting on you." she said, with a note of rising anger, from where I had no idea. And she skulked away to where her friend sat and watched. I threw the note away. The band finished. I turned to see C.J. "Wanna get out of here?" he asked. "Yeah," I said, quaffing my beer. "Ready?" "Let's go." he said. We left. Outside, in the bracing night air, and the hum of colfax, the location of Denver's id, he laughed. "Man, that fat chick was working you." Sometimes, I just can't win. Collorary: Later I related the story to Don's girlfriend, and she politley intimated that they just wanted my cock. "I know," I said, "Other than for amusement, why I'm saying this, Its just that I try to be a nice guy, and I get harassed." "Oh, I can relate," she said, "Being a girl in a bar...I can relate."
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