What I Hated About Yesterday
I got into work about two hours before my body did. I stepped into the bathroom to change into my work clothes, and curled up into a fetal position on the floor. Just ten... more... minutes... the cold concrete felt glorious against my cheek, my eyes shut tight, wishing for the queasiness in my stomach to go away. I eventually sat up, only to rest my head on the toilet seat, hoping that if I did actually puke, that more would amount from it than dry heaves and yellow bile. I was wrong.
What the fuck happened last night?
The sun was shining bright and as if by some sort of divine intervention, my phone rang with an invitation to go for a beer at the beach, an offer I couldn't refuse. I grabbed a six pack and threw it into my satchel, jumped on my bike and got there in decent time. Crab Park is one of my favorite places in the city, and sitting on the logs and throwing rocks into the water with the boys is one of my favorite summer pastimes. And Campbell was there which made it all the better, as were two other buds and a stranger they had been hanging out with.
The conversation was all hunky dorey until the stranger decided to put his arm around me; I don't like being touched, especially by strangers. 'This is your warning, don't fucking touch me', I told him, and he backed off. The buds were standing in front of us, 'don't be disrespectful', they said to the stranger, as I explained to the stranger that it wasn't personal, I just didn't go for that. Campbell pulled on my arm at my side to get my attention, 'just don't talk to him, he's going to start something', he kept saying. I could feel him being concerned and protective and I love him, but I didn't want to be defended; 'it's okay', I said, 'I can handle myself'. Conversation went on, and tensions eased. Then the stranger tried to stand up, but he staggered and fell, I caught him and helped him sit back down. He was reseated and we were all okay, joking, the stranger fell over slightly, bumping me while seated, but laughing and I continued to be polite and tried righting him again. Campbell was still by my side and tense, he got up and walked away to loosen his arm and turn the other cheek, we all knew he didn't want to get dragged into a fight. The stranger had a sudden change, and became somber and apologetic for his drunkeness, slurring heavily. 'I am not normally like this', he said, 'you must all think I'm an idiot'. We laughed, I said it was playoffs and it was sunny, all bets were off, Scotty told him it was the tall cans of Colt45 he was drinking that were kicking his ass. The stranger remained quiet, then leaned into me, and quietly asked if he could fuck me. 'I'm sorry, are you really asking me to fuck you', I asked him, getting up. The buddies were up in arms, protecting my honour, and collecting our shit to go and sit on the next log down. The man began to apologize, hands together in his lap, knees drawn together, 'I'm sorry I asked you that, I don't know why I did'. He had a look on his face like he was a dog that had just been hit on the nose by a rolled up newspaper after he had pissed on the floor. Campbell paused in his rock throwing as if contemplating if he needed to kick the stranger's ass, and saw that all was okay and being handled, then continued throwing rocks. We moved down the beach and the stranger sat by himself mumbling and cursing at himself, us, and me, then fell over backwards into the sand and passed out. The buds apologized to me, 'he was fine all afternoon', they said. Before we left Crab later, I insisted that Campbell check and see if the stranger was breathing before being left on his side in the sand.
Three hours before Campbell's show, and he had to go to the jam space. I sat on the railway tracks drank beer by myself and hucked empty bottles at rail cars, listening to them tinkle as they shattered in showers of glass, I was angry, hating the fact that I was a girl, a girl that somehow needed defending, a girl that had put her friends in a position where they felt they had to defend me; I fucking hate feeling like a girl. I moved along and found a quiet spot to sit on a loading dock and vented my frustrations with a sharpie on bare concrete watching hobos and hookers pass by on the sidewalk.
I made my way to the venue, sat with our friends and listened to the music, the crowd seemed so quiet and intimate unlike the screaming boy punk that was about to be unleashed; the calm before the Receptionist storm. I joked that maybe they were going to try and pull off an unplugged version of their set as I studied the glossy eyed deadpan hipster crowd that filled the Princeton. Campbell and the rest of the band took their positions in the spotlight and rocked; I was again the girlfriend, watching the show, supporting the band, laughing at their antics, singing along, anticipating my favourite songs. They played and were awesome, the fill-in bassist hit all the right cues, and no one fell over drunk head first into the stage. When their set was done, they went out for a post show smoke, while I waited inside with our friends. Then a band member came back into the pub, 'we gotta get Campbell outta here, he got into a fight with the bouncer'.
I went outside and found Campbell livid, shouting at the bouncer for hurting his arm, gesturing around, swearing; he wanted names and he was going to sue. I tried talking to him, but it was like talking over a breaking tsunami; he and Neuf were shouting back and forth at each other with occasional threats and shouts being directed at the bouncer; he couldn't or wouldn't hear me. There was so much anger, someone was on the phone to a cab company to get Campbell out of there, I was confused and bewildered. It all happened quickly, but in slow motion; the band made him get into a cab and go home, certain he was in the wrong, while I just stood there confused and unable to follow. What the fuck happened? I tried texting him when he disappeared from sight, but no reply. One of his buddies from the audience expressed his amazement to me of my patience for Campbell; I looked at him as if to ask what the fuck he was talking about, still left without answers. I helped the band load up, and get the Wizard's bike to him when it wouldn't fit. 'We sort of knew that would happen here', one of the band said, 'they are dicks like that about beers on the stage'. This was all happening over beers on the fucking stage?
And I sat in the banana room with my head in my hands; hungover, tired, angry, sore, confused.
So yesterday I hated the fact that the stranger hit on me. I hated feeling so much like a fucking girl. I hated that I made people feel like they had to stick up for me. I hated the fact that it made me feel like I was unable to defend myself. I hated the fact that I felt like I had created negative energy and cast a dark shadow on the whole evening. I hated the fact that you got thrown out of the bar, and that your friends made you go home. I hated the fact that I didn't do anything to stop them from doing so. I hated the fact that you felt like everyone turned their back on you. I hated the fact that your only crime had been having a beer on the stage while you played your guitar, and that the bouncer had been a dick. But mostly, I hated the fact that I didn't have your back, like I know you would have for me; I of all people should not have let you down.
That's what I hated about yesterday.
What the fuck happened last night?
The sun was shining bright and as if by some sort of divine intervention, my phone rang with an invitation to go for a beer at the beach, an offer I couldn't refuse. I grabbed a six pack and threw it into my satchel, jumped on my bike and got there in decent time. Crab Park is one of my favorite places in the city, and sitting on the logs and throwing rocks into the water with the boys is one of my favorite summer pastimes. And Campbell was there which made it all the better, as were two other buds and a stranger they had been hanging out with.
The conversation was all hunky dorey until the stranger decided to put his arm around me; I don't like being touched, especially by strangers. 'This is your warning, don't fucking touch me', I told him, and he backed off. The buds were standing in front of us, 'don't be disrespectful', they said to the stranger, as I explained to the stranger that it wasn't personal, I just didn't go for that. Campbell pulled on my arm at my side to get my attention, 'just don't talk to him, he's going to start something', he kept saying. I could feel him being concerned and protective and I love him, but I didn't want to be defended; 'it's okay', I said, 'I can handle myself'. Conversation went on, and tensions eased. Then the stranger tried to stand up, but he staggered and fell, I caught him and helped him sit back down. He was reseated and we were all okay, joking, the stranger fell over slightly, bumping me while seated, but laughing and I continued to be polite and tried righting him again. Campbell was still by my side and tense, he got up and walked away to loosen his arm and turn the other cheek, we all knew he didn't want to get dragged into a fight. The stranger had a sudden change, and became somber and apologetic for his drunkeness, slurring heavily. 'I am not normally like this', he said, 'you must all think I'm an idiot'. We laughed, I said it was playoffs and it was sunny, all bets were off, Scotty told him it was the tall cans of Colt45 he was drinking that were kicking his ass. The stranger remained quiet, then leaned into me, and quietly asked if he could fuck me. 'I'm sorry, are you really asking me to fuck you', I asked him, getting up. The buddies were up in arms, protecting my honour, and collecting our shit to go and sit on the next log down. The man began to apologize, hands together in his lap, knees drawn together, 'I'm sorry I asked you that, I don't know why I did'. He had a look on his face like he was a dog that had just been hit on the nose by a rolled up newspaper after he had pissed on the floor. Campbell paused in his rock throwing as if contemplating if he needed to kick the stranger's ass, and saw that all was okay and being handled, then continued throwing rocks. We moved down the beach and the stranger sat by himself mumbling and cursing at himself, us, and me, then fell over backwards into the sand and passed out. The buds apologized to me, 'he was fine all afternoon', they said. Before we left Crab later, I insisted that Campbell check and see if the stranger was breathing before being left on his side in the sand.
Three hours before Campbell's show, and he had to go to the jam space. I sat on the railway tracks drank beer by myself and hucked empty bottles at rail cars, listening to them tinkle as they shattered in showers of glass, I was angry, hating the fact that I was a girl, a girl that somehow needed defending, a girl that had put her friends in a position where they felt they had to defend me; I fucking hate feeling like a girl. I moved along and found a quiet spot to sit on a loading dock and vented my frustrations with a sharpie on bare concrete watching hobos and hookers pass by on the sidewalk.
I made my way to the venue, sat with our friends and listened to the music, the crowd seemed so quiet and intimate unlike the screaming boy punk that was about to be unleashed; the calm before the Receptionist storm. I joked that maybe they were going to try and pull off an unplugged version of their set as I studied the glossy eyed deadpan hipster crowd that filled the Princeton. Campbell and the rest of the band took their positions in the spotlight and rocked; I was again the girlfriend, watching the show, supporting the band, laughing at their antics, singing along, anticipating my favourite songs. They played and were awesome, the fill-in bassist hit all the right cues, and no one fell over drunk head first into the stage. When their set was done, they went out for a post show smoke, while I waited inside with our friends. Then a band member came back into the pub, 'we gotta get Campbell outta here, he got into a fight with the bouncer'.
I went outside and found Campbell livid, shouting at the bouncer for hurting his arm, gesturing around, swearing; he wanted names and he was going to sue. I tried talking to him, but it was like talking over a breaking tsunami; he and Neuf were shouting back and forth at each other with occasional threats and shouts being directed at the bouncer; he couldn't or wouldn't hear me. There was so much anger, someone was on the phone to a cab company to get Campbell out of there, I was confused and bewildered. It all happened quickly, but in slow motion; the band made him get into a cab and go home, certain he was in the wrong, while I just stood there confused and unable to follow. What the fuck happened? I tried texting him when he disappeared from sight, but no reply. One of his buddies from the audience expressed his amazement to me of my patience for Campbell; I looked at him as if to ask what the fuck he was talking about, still left without answers. I helped the band load up, and get the Wizard's bike to him when it wouldn't fit. 'We sort of knew that would happen here', one of the band said, 'they are dicks like that about beers on the stage'. This was all happening over beers on the fucking stage?
And I sat in the banana room with my head in my hands; hungover, tired, angry, sore, confused.
So yesterday I hated the fact that the stranger hit on me. I hated feeling so much like a fucking girl. I hated that I made people feel like they had to stick up for me. I hated the fact that it made me feel like I was unable to defend myself. I hated the fact that I felt like I had created negative energy and cast a dark shadow on the whole evening. I hated the fact that you got thrown out of the bar, and that your friends made you go home. I hated the fact that I didn't do anything to stop them from doing so. I hated the fact that you felt like everyone turned their back on you. I hated the fact that your only crime had been having a beer on the stage while you played your guitar, and that the bouncer had been a dick. But mostly, I hated the fact that I didn't have your back, like I know you would have for me; I of all people should not have let you down.
That's what I hated about yesterday.