The Night Cupid Denied Me Love
In a jam-packed nightclub in Modesto two nights after Thanksgiving, I glided into a round seating booth with two rather quiet friends who are married to each other. The husband looked at me strangely, seeing that I had came back from the bar with three drinks in hand: two filled-to-the-brim shot glasses and a tall glass of something dark.
“They’re all for me,” I yelled over loud hip hop music.
I was in the middle of the booth when the husband scooted away from his wife to be closer to me. Just then, my other friend Nick walked out from the bathroom and offered a look of concern when he also noticed what was in front of me. He grabbed the seat next to me, making me the meat between a man-sandwich of him and the husband.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Nick said, rather sincerely.
“Nothing at all,” I said. “I just want to drink.”
That wasn’t the best answer to give because of the night’s state of affairs.
This was supposed to be an all-around fun night for my group of friends, which consisted of a newlywed couple, the newlywed couple’s maid of honor and a trio of single guys -- with one of them being me. After an hour in the club, I found myself alone while every one of my friends were partnered with someone. I wasn’t sad about the situation. I was bored. So that’s why I marched to the bar alone.
Before we entered the nightclub called Bacchus, I announced that I first wanted to go to a nearby dance club known as Fat Cat since I personally knew some of the guys who provided the entertainment that Saturday night. Nick said he would respect my request. But after reuniting with the married couple’s friend with whom he had gotten close to at the wedding last summer, he decided to commit to Bacchus for the rest of the drunken evening. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to leave to see if there were any prospects at the other club. I made this announcement again while my group and I were in this tight little circle not too far from the dance floor, where, if we weren‘t so polite, we could’ve sipped on each other’s drinks because we were holding them so close to people’s faces.
“Is there any way I can change your mind?” asked Nick in response to my announcement.
“Not really,” I said. “None of these girls are my type.”
“How do you know they’re not your type?”
“I just know.”
I was in denial.
My other friend Kim interrupted the conversation and said that we’d go when I emptied my first drink of the night: a gin and tonic. I struggled with the drink, since it tasted like a homeless man‘s foot. It took me 15 minutes to finish it. I then tended myself in the restroom. When I came back, I saw that my friends secured a nearby booth. I also noticed that Kim was talking to a cute girl. I was surprised, not because he can’t land cute girls. He’d been adamant about not meeting girls until he had fully secured a job after being unemployed for a long time. I didn’t want to be a fun-hater, so I slid into the booth and watched my friends have their fun. Nick even facilitated a dance with me and his girl, a trick of his to keep me from wanting to leave. The girl, sweet as a toothache, asked me, “Why are you so shy?” After the dance, I watched Kim interact with his new girl. He said he’d accidentally bumped into her, setting off introductions that led to an interesting night.
I didn’t want to ruin the chemistry. I decided to get those three drinks, but I must admit now that one of them was a Coco-Cola chaser for my two shots of Washington Apples. I lied to my friends that all three were made of alcohol to get a couple raised eyebrows from my friends. Nick and the husband divulged into their past relationships, hoping to remind me that I won’t go far with the opposite sex if I didn’t put myself at risk. Yes, I was being quite reserved that night. Translation: a punk.
“You see that girl standing next to our booth?” the husband yelled.
I nodded, while I built a forest with my arms to protect my drinks from being taken away.
“How do you know she’s not The One?”
“I don’t,” I shouted. “But she’s just not my type.”
I was in denial.
They seemed frustrated with an excuse I used all night. But here was the thing: I arrived at the nightclub thinking it was just to stay for a few minutes, a sort of social appetizer before bouncing to our next destination. Yes, Bacchus wasn’t any different from the club I wanted to go to: same kind of music, same kind of women, same kind of drinks. And I didn’t want to be an asshole about it, either. I told them that I’d be fine going to the other club alone to check out the scene. I’d return if I didn’t like it.
But the whole night changed when Kim landed himself a sweet-looking girl. Petite. Might’ve been an athlete in high school. Pretty face. Nice smile. Cute body. Latina. I was impressed. I could’ve easily told him that I wanted to leave, and I’d like to think he’d actually leave -- for me. But I respected the situation and allowed it to take its course.
I kept telling my friends that I wasn’t drinking out of loneliness. “I’m drinking,” I said, with a smirk, “because I like to drink.” And that’s true. The only time I drink is when I’m with friends, especially in a crowded atmosphere where everyone seemed to be in love with each other. I wanted to send a message to cupid, who, from what I noticed that night, decided to shoot an arrow into the behinds of every guy there except for mine.
Someone turned the lights on. It was time to go, but people still lingered inside. Kim’s girl found a seat next to me, though she was staring directly at Kim.
“You like my friend?” I asked her.
“Yeah, I do,” she said.
I got to know her age. Her former high school. Her hometown. Her relationship status. Her interests, which, at the moment, were Kim and his penis. I managed to find his number on my phone, despite being a little buzzed. She plugged the numbers into her phone and said, “I’m calling him now.” That way, he’d have a reminder in the morning of what happened the night before.
After the club, Kim and I separated from the group. We walked a few blocks to grab our standard late-night grub: taco truck tacos. I asked Kim if I was being too controlling by giving away his phone number without asking for permission. Even though he said he didn’t care, I felt like I had no business getting involved in another person’s love life. So I apologized.
“They’re all for me,” I yelled over loud hip hop music.
I was in the middle of the booth when the husband scooted away from his wife to be closer to me. Just then, my other friend Nick walked out from the bathroom and offered a look of concern when he also noticed what was in front of me. He grabbed the seat next to me, making me the meat between a man-sandwich of him and the husband.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Nick said, rather sincerely.
“Nothing at all,” I said. “I just want to drink.”
That wasn’t the best answer to give because of the night’s state of affairs.
This was supposed to be an all-around fun night for my group of friends, which consisted of a newlywed couple, the newlywed couple’s maid of honor and a trio of single guys -- with one of them being me. After an hour in the club, I found myself alone while every one of my friends were partnered with someone. I wasn’t sad about the situation. I was bored. So that’s why I marched to the bar alone.
Before we entered the nightclub called Bacchus, I announced that I first wanted to go to a nearby dance club known as Fat Cat since I personally knew some of the guys who provided the entertainment that Saturday night. Nick said he would respect my request. But after reuniting with the married couple’s friend with whom he had gotten close to at the wedding last summer, he decided to commit to Bacchus for the rest of the drunken evening. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to leave to see if there were any prospects at the other club. I made this announcement again while my group and I were in this tight little circle not too far from the dance floor, where, if we weren‘t so polite, we could’ve sipped on each other’s drinks because we were holding them so close to people’s faces.
“Is there any way I can change your mind?” asked Nick in response to my announcement.
“Not really,” I said. “None of these girls are my type.”
“How do you know they’re not your type?”
“I just know.”
I was in denial.
My other friend Kim interrupted the conversation and said that we’d go when I emptied my first drink of the night: a gin and tonic. I struggled with the drink, since it tasted like a homeless man‘s foot. It took me 15 minutes to finish it. I then tended myself in the restroom. When I came back, I saw that my friends secured a nearby booth. I also noticed that Kim was talking to a cute girl. I was surprised, not because he can’t land cute girls. He’d been adamant about not meeting girls until he had fully secured a job after being unemployed for a long time. I didn’t want to be a fun-hater, so I slid into the booth and watched my friends have their fun. Nick even facilitated a dance with me and his girl, a trick of his to keep me from wanting to leave. The girl, sweet as a toothache, asked me, “Why are you so shy?” After the dance, I watched Kim interact with his new girl. He said he’d accidentally bumped into her, setting off introductions that led to an interesting night.
I didn’t want to ruin the chemistry. I decided to get those three drinks, but I must admit now that one of them was a Coco-Cola chaser for my two shots of Washington Apples. I lied to my friends that all three were made of alcohol to get a couple raised eyebrows from my friends. Nick and the husband divulged into their past relationships, hoping to remind me that I won’t go far with the opposite sex if I didn’t put myself at risk. Yes, I was being quite reserved that night. Translation: a punk.
“You see that girl standing next to our booth?” the husband yelled.
I nodded, while I built a forest with my arms to protect my drinks from being taken away.
“How do you know she’s not The One?”
“I don’t,” I shouted. “But she’s just not my type.”
I was in denial.
They seemed frustrated with an excuse I used all night. But here was the thing: I arrived at the nightclub thinking it was just to stay for a few minutes, a sort of social appetizer before bouncing to our next destination. Yes, Bacchus wasn’t any different from the club I wanted to go to: same kind of music, same kind of women, same kind of drinks. And I didn’t want to be an asshole about it, either. I told them that I’d be fine going to the other club alone to check out the scene. I’d return if I didn’t like it.
But the whole night changed when Kim landed himself a sweet-looking girl. Petite. Might’ve been an athlete in high school. Pretty face. Nice smile. Cute body. Latina. I was impressed. I could’ve easily told him that I wanted to leave, and I’d like to think he’d actually leave -- for me. But I respected the situation and allowed it to take its course.
I kept telling my friends that I wasn’t drinking out of loneliness. “I’m drinking,” I said, with a smirk, “because I like to drink.” And that’s true. The only time I drink is when I’m with friends, especially in a crowded atmosphere where everyone seemed to be in love with each other. I wanted to send a message to cupid, who, from what I noticed that night, decided to shoot an arrow into the behinds of every guy there except for mine.
Someone turned the lights on. It was time to go, but people still lingered inside. Kim’s girl found a seat next to me, though she was staring directly at Kim.
“You like my friend?” I asked her.
“Yeah, I do,” she said.
I got to know her age. Her former high school. Her hometown. Her relationship status. Her interests, which, at the moment, were Kim and his penis. I managed to find his number on my phone, despite being a little buzzed. She plugged the numbers into her phone and said, “I’m calling him now.” That way, he’d have a reminder in the morning of what happened the night before.
After the club, Kim and I separated from the group. We walked a few blocks to grab our standard late-night grub: taco truck tacos. I asked Kim if I was being too controlling by giving away his phone number without asking for permission. Even though he said he didn’t care, I felt like I had no business getting involved in another person’s love life. So I apologized.