"What the hell does THAT stand for?"
[preface :- I am actually planning on writing about tonight properly, but I seem to have been taken over by some sort of narrative-crazed baboon... please stand by as regular service is resumed... bzzzzzzzzz]
One young lady, the type that would look annoyed at a potato for being brownish, came up to our table in the corner of the harshly-lit student union bar tonight, took one look at our small, hand-written sign stuck on the wall, and realised that the letters, nicely spaced and properly punctuated, were completely alien to her; "L. G. B. T." . Little did she know that even this small mark of our intentions was placed there to avoid more of such confusion that had happened earlier in the evening.
The night started standing outside of the warm, and considerably less raining, coffee shop I had taken refuge in an hour earlier when the Edinburgh weather did the one thing you can rely on it doing in late-summer. There I stood, coffee breathed and hesitant, wishing I'd remembered to pick up the half pack of golds I left in the flat, when my guide for the evening turned up, wet and pissed. So at least I knew I wasn't the only one feeling reluctant to go. Our destination for the evening was the seldom-used (except anyone but sport-nuts and students in need of a rent-advance) Student Union bar. When we arrived, the only other person there for the meeting was the person who'd organised it in the first place; the same person who, coincidently, was just made the captain of the football society as well. So after hanging around for half an hour or so, a few more people had turned up, with our fairly paultry group of seven or eight sitting around two sticky bar tables, one half with pints, the other with vodka and cokes, our group of guys and one girl were joined by two more men, making us look like a proper society, and not just a random gathering.... Only that isn't exactly the way it ended up.
About half an hour of sitting round, my friend had struck quite a lengthy conversation with one of our two relative newcomers. There had been talk earlier of going down to one of the two gay bars in the city for their Wednesday night quiz, so when my friend asked if Newcomer No. One wanted to go with us, he was suprised by the reaction. To cut a long story (or, rather, a long part of a seemingly long enough story) short, our fresher friend freaked out a little, made some joke about not in fact being gay himself, and needing to desperately find his friend, but that he would be back in a bit, before disapearing from sight, leaving a swirl of cocktail napkins and unnecessarily short drinking straws in his wake. Weirdly, he never did come back.
One young lady, the type that would look annoyed at a potato for being brownish, came up to our table in the corner of the harshly-lit student union bar tonight, took one look at our small, hand-written sign stuck on the wall, and realised that the letters, nicely spaced and properly punctuated, were completely alien to her; "L. G. B. T." . Little did she know that even this small mark of our intentions was placed there to avoid more of such confusion that had happened earlier in the evening.
The night started standing outside of the warm, and considerably less raining, coffee shop I had taken refuge in an hour earlier when the Edinburgh weather did the one thing you can rely on it doing in late-summer. There I stood, coffee breathed and hesitant, wishing I'd remembered to pick up the half pack of golds I left in the flat, when my guide for the evening turned up, wet and pissed. So at least I knew I wasn't the only one feeling reluctant to go. Our destination for the evening was the seldom-used (except anyone but sport-nuts and students in need of a rent-advance) Student Union bar. When we arrived, the only other person there for the meeting was the person who'd organised it in the first place; the same person who, coincidently, was just made the captain of the football society as well. So after hanging around for half an hour or so, a few more people had turned up, with our fairly paultry group of seven or eight sitting around two sticky bar tables, one half with pints, the other with vodka and cokes, our group of guys and one girl were joined by two more men, making us look like a proper society, and not just a random gathering.... Only that isn't exactly the way it ended up.
About half an hour of sitting round, my friend had struck quite a lengthy conversation with one of our two relative newcomers. There had been talk earlier of going down to one of the two gay bars in the city for their Wednesday night quiz, so when my friend asked if Newcomer No. One wanted to go with us, he was suprised by the reaction. To cut a long story (or, rather, a long part of a seemingly long enough story) short, our fresher friend freaked out a little, made some joke about not in fact being gay himself, and needing to desperately find his friend, but that he would be back in a bit, before disapearing from sight, leaving a swirl of cocktail napkins and unnecessarily short drinking straws in his wake. Weirdly, he never did come back.