Wolfgang-banged
Wolfgang-banged
or,
I've got it like that
Last night, I wanted to talk to Michael about mortgages, just to ask what info I'd need to supply him with. So, I went to D'Amato's intending to talk business with him and to have exactly one light beer. Michael wasn't there, but his nephew, Brian, was bartending instead. I decided to have my one light beer anyway. This guy named Daniel who used to work there and who is kind of the adopted son of one of my customers happened to sit next to me at the bar, so my one light beer wound up being two beers, a glass of raspberry infused vodka, and two shots. My total, mind you, was $8.50. I've got it like that.
Anyway, before Daniel arrived, this guy who DJs there named Wolfgang was walking past. I greeted him like I always do, and he stopped to talk to me. Wait. He didn't just stop to talk to me. I think the world stopped while he talked to me. He talked my fucking neck off. Halfway through, I would have rather excused myself and tied myself to the train tracks outside than continue to listen to him anymore. I just asked a question about what he does other than DJ, and he talked for probably half an hour about how his new interest is gardening, since he has incredibly vast knowledge of perennials. He told me all the colors of his lillies, etc. I mean it seems to me that when a interlocuter only responds with "hmm mmmm," "yeah," and focuses his eyes on anything but you, you should get the hint that he or she is losing interest. Wolfgang didn't. Finally, (praise Allah!) someone called me from the YMCA to tell me something that I already knew. It was, however, just the excuse I needed to free myself.
Evidently, the phenomenon of having one's neck talked off by Wolfgang isn't unique. I talked to several people who work there about it, and Paul (the manager) asked what we should call it when that happens. I thought quickly, and I said "I was Wolfgang-banged."
or,
I've got it like that
Last night, I wanted to talk to Michael about mortgages, just to ask what info I'd need to supply him with. So, I went to D'Amato's intending to talk business with him and to have exactly one light beer. Michael wasn't there, but his nephew, Brian, was bartending instead. I decided to have my one light beer anyway. This guy named Daniel who used to work there and who is kind of the adopted son of one of my customers happened to sit next to me at the bar, so my one light beer wound up being two beers, a glass of raspberry infused vodka, and two shots. My total, mind you, was $8.50. I've got it like that.
Anyway, before Daniel arrived, this guy who DJs there named Wolfgang was walking past. I greeted him like I always do, and he stopped to talk to me. Wait. He didn't just stop to talk to me. I think the world stopped while he talked to me. He talked my fucking neck off. Halfway through, I would have rather excused myself and tied myself to the train tracks outside than continue to listen to him anymore. I just asked a question about what he does other than DJ, and he talked for probably half an hour about how his new interest is gardening, since he has incredibly vast knowledge of perennials. He told me all the colors of his lillies, etc. I mean it seems to me that when a interlocuter only responds with "hmm mmmm," "yeah," and focuses his eyes on anything but you, you should get the hint that he or she is losing interest. Wolfgang didn't. Finally, (praise Allah!) someone called me from the YMCA to tell me something that I already knew. It was, however, just the excuse I needed to free myself.
Evidently, the phenomenon of having one's neck talked off by Wolfgang isn't unique. I talked to several people who work there about it, and Paul (the manager) asked what we should call it when that happens. I thought quickly, and I said "I was Wolfgang-banged."