A First Date

Abraham and I had perfected our bar order: one plate of hot wings, one plate of tater tots and a side of queso for the tots, split between the two of us.

"Can I get you anything else?" said our bartender dryly. "A salad?"

Abraham pointed to the leaves of lettuce that the wings were displayed upon. "It's right here," he joked.

I grabbed a wing and he grabbed a tot. I'd eaten like a mouse during the week leading up to this so I could calorically afford this meal. I dared Abraham to dip a wing in the queso. He obeyed but said it wasn't life changing. I was disappointed.

The girl sitting adjacent to me quickly grabbed my attention. For starters, it was 7 p.m. on a Wednesday and this girl was drunk. Laughing too loudly, falling over, slurring her words drunk.

She was pretty. She was a petite girl of Indian descent. Her black hair hung in dramatic, loose waves. She paired heavy eye makeup with a tunic and jeans. She was dressed purposefully; she didn't come to the bar on a whim.

She announced she was drunk and then ordered another round of shots for herself and the boy with whom she was sitting. I could tell by the nature of their questions that they didn't know each other. I wondered if this was their first meeting offline. Match.com probably. Or maybe OK Cupid.

He was testing her with bad flirting. "Do you want to kick me in the balls?" he asked her after she seemed annoyed, presumably at whatever he said before the ball-kicking question.

"You can buy me shots, but you can't flirt with me," she slurred.

I raised an eyebrow at Abraham. This was getting interesting. Despite the hot wing and queso combination not being revolutionary, he was now dipping each wing into queso and then into ranch dressing.

"Do you think this is a first date?" I asked him.

"I've seen her around here. Usually she's just like this," he gestured.

The girl got up from her bar stool and zig-zagged to the bathroom.

An older man appeared at the bar and began asking her date about her. "Whatever you do," he advised the date, "Don't buy her shots."

"It's too late. We've already had two." He listed the shots at the old man's request.

By this point I had my back to Abraham and was fully engulfed in this conversation. "Is this a first date?" I blurted.

"It's not anything," he replied quickly. "I'm making an ass out of myself."

"You're not making an ass out of yourself," I consoled.

"I am. I'm engaged. We're just hanging out."

My instinct said he was lying. He lied about being engaged because he was so embarrassed to be in this scenario where regulars at this bar are warning him about this drunk girl. He didn't want to be rejected.

He looked to be in his late twenties, dressed in a crisp blue-striped button down. When he and his "date" were talking, they faced each other with their shoulders angled toward each other. Body language insinuated that this was more than nothing.

He then got the bartender's attention and ordered two more shots. "Fuck it," he said, going against the old man's advice. "She wants to kick me in the balls anyway."

The girl had been absent from the bar for quite awhile. Long enough for Abraham and I to finish our wings. I had also finished my beer and moved on to his. Had her keys and cigarettes not been left on the bar, I would have thought she snuck out through the back.

She returned to her "date" and the two shots waiting for her.

"I didn't order them!" he said, feigning shock. "They came from the happy couple."

I turned around and counted the rest of the patrons lining the bar. Abraham and I were the only pairing. We were the happy couple!

"They didn't know we were together," he continued. "I mean, not together," he corrected.

Mmmhmm. I added his slip up to the column that he was lying. At the very least, he lied about the origin of the shots. But he seemed too caught up in her drunken regard of him to be engaged. He pressed her to see how far he could get with her. He was putting on an act for the regulars that he didn't care about her.

I was turned off by the whole scenario. Shame on her for being that drunk, so habitually drunk that people are warning strangers about her. Shame on him. Shame on him for lying and for buying her more shots. He was playing with her like a toy to see how far she could go. How drunk and riled up she could get.

Who do you think is wrong in this scenario?