capitalize on the awkward situation

Rosey’s birthday was on a Thursday.  She had texted me the week before to get suggestions on a venue.  Her first instinct was some filled-with-straight-“analysts” bar on 8^th ave in Midtown.  I made a couple of gay suggestions (including Chelsea Hotel, which, in addition to having free vodka, does special accommodations for birthdays).  She ignored these and decided on 123 BurgerShotBeer.  A straight sports bar in Hell’s Kitchen.  On the bright side, they have $2 kamikazes and other fruity shots.  But it’s still. A straight. Bar.

 Readers: if you have an apartment in a convenient part of town, have a house party.  With 10-oz cups (or bigger).

I got to the bar, and some game was playing on the TVs.  Of course.  And I saw people in ties.  TIES!  I needed a drink forthwith.

Eventually, the game was muted and music was put on, which made the situation a bit better. 

Someone pointed out a quarter on the floor, so as a joke, I stood in front of someone and did a bend-and-snap move to pick it up.  Over my shoulder, I hear, “What was that, cotton?”  He must be talking about my sweater.  I turn around and make eye contact with a very familiar friend of Rosey’s, who was very amused.  To make it absolutely clear what he was talking about, he jestured towards the floor and repeated his comment.  Are you, a white guy who has actually graduated from a respected university, really making a cotton-picking reference to a black guy from the South… who outweighs you by about 50 lbs.

Needless to say, I was less than amused.  But rather than make a scene, I just gave him a look (which was met with a laughing “What?  Really?” Yes.  Really.) and turned back to my boys. 

Let me just say, I’m way too uptight to be the butt of a cotton-picking joke.  I’m tempted to say that any black person who isn't is disturbingly desperate for white camaraderie, but that’s not what this blog is about.

Eventually, the bar was taken over by gay boys (many weren’t with our party), but I just wasn’t feeling the vibe.  The Ivy League Crew was all on the same page, so we ditched for View.  From the time we arrived, I was eyeing this guy in a grey sweater with a really nice body.  I was doing my usual yell-at-him-because-he-probably-won’t-respond-anyway thing, but I’m pretty sure he noticed me checking him out. 

Towards the end of the night (well, the end of my night b/c I wasn't planning on staying out long), I saw the one guy both Bottomless Pitt and I have both hooked up with (at different times, perv).  I waved at him, but I didn’t notice that he was standing in very close proximity to the guy in the grey sweater whom I was blatantly checking out earlier.  Grey Sweater waved at me.  And what made it so bad was that I was waving really hard because the guy I was actually waving at didn’t see me.  Just as I noticed Grey Sweater's wave, the guy I was waving to noticed me.

Usually I would take that opportunity to laugh and capitalize on the awkward situation as an ice breaker.  But I didn’t really want to pick up a guy in front of a former hookup.  Did I mention I was already headed to an ex’s for the night anyway?  Yeah.

Check out another View Bar adventure here.

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