Every time I go to the bathroom in one of my favourite local bars I look up at the plaster repair job above the urinal and can’t help but feel I’m being watched.
So I was sitting at a bar, minding my own business, when suddenly a random guy appeared out of nowhere and took the seat immediately to my right. Which I found somewhat peculiar because I was sitting alone in a booth.
He was completely unremarkable in every way and, as I was completely immersed in my drinking/writing, I paid him no mind.
At least I tried to.
The correct answer is:
- 1 & 3/4 Australian pints.
- 1.76 UK pints.
- 2.11338 US liquid pints.
- 1.75975 Imperial pints.
Bonus question: How many pints in my bloodstream?
6. The answer is 6.
The group of late 20-something women sitting three tables over from me are drowning out the conversation I’m trying to have and the music the venue is playing with their autistic screeching about the Kardashians.
Kardashians. Autistic screeching.
I’m thinking there may be a correlation.
While standing at the bar of one of the many bars I frequent, emanating from somewhere behind me, I overhear a female voice taking part in one half of a phone conversation.
“Ugh. I’m at some bar.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. I don’t want to be here, its all, like, dark. And full of weirdos.”
“Ugh. No. I have no idea when we’re leaving.”
“Oh Em Gee, it’s the worst, like, I don’t even know why they wanted to come here.”
“I know! We never go to cool places that I wanna go to.”
Being one of said weirdos in the, like, dark bar, I look over my shoulder to try and steal a glimpse of the dissatisfied orator of this asymmetrical diatribe.
Today I’d like to share with you a nice little mix of hyper-awareness and neuroticism.
After complimenting my friendly neighbourhood bar-girl with a “You look really nice today” I then immediately realise how my statement infers she didn’t look nice the day before.
She then responds, “So I didn’t look nice yesterday?”
I momentarily pause, index finger outstretched and mouth agape like I’m going to keep my charm intact with a clever retort and… no. Nothing comes out. Clever or otherwise.
She laughs and pours me a beer, while I laugh and hope I came across more awkwardly endearing as opposed to a complete and utter social freakshow.
I woke up this morning in my shower, with the water still running, and suffering from a Memento-esque memory haze. Apparently, after a night of significant revelry, I decided to have shower upon returning home. No big deal.
But the plot thickens. By inadvertently blocking the drain with my highly intoxicated self half an inch of water now covers the floor across the entirety of my apartment.
Despite having absolutely no idea how to deal with the copious amount of unwanted water I reflect on how thankful I am that my apartment didn’t come with a bathtub.