So... another funny story...
After a good long week on the job and a little drama at home, I set out on the town last night. A buddy of mine from Florida stopped into town on business and we connected to hit downtown D.C. We met up with a roommate and a girl friend of my Fl buddy and went bar-hopping. Of course, after hitting the normal stomping grounds and running into the usual suspects around Dupont Circle, we finished up at a place called 'The Big Hunt.'The Big Hunt
is a nice dive in dupont where the locals go to forget the fact that they're in D.C. We've met a few regulars out there and for some reason, it feels like a really comfortable place to be. No matter how the night goes down, you know that the Big Hunt will have a good mix of people, not too crowded, and ok music.
But for some reason, this night was different. The bar was packed and it took a good 20 minutes to get your hands on a drink. I guess they were short on bartenders or whatever. Now, I'm not the type of guy to hit up a bar repeatedly for shots or anything, but the search for a simple glass of wine became an adventure. It got especially frustrating when the bartenders would serve girl after girl in front of you, but hey... that's the name of the game, yes?
Anyways, the night was coming to a close and the original group fragmented into my roommate hanging in the back with some friends, Fl boy and his girlie were in the bar's basement discussing the intoxication levels of taquilla shots, and I was at the front bar nursing a glass of the house red. Without noticing, a cute girl sneaked up on my right and started to signal the bartender with no avail.
"How long does it take to get a drink around here," She said while smirking my way. Her thick southern accent poured itself from her polysyllabic "'round here".
"Could take a while," I responded. After taking a look around the bar, I followed with "Well, if you look like me, it might take a half hour. But for you, probably a few minutes."
She took a pause....
"What's that supposed to mean?" she quized indignantly. "Why, because you're colored?"
I liken conversations to car trips. Sometimes you get in one with someone and you click so well, it's like driving down a highway 20 miles over the speed limit. Other times, it's like rush hour traffic; everyone has to have their say and it slows the whole progression to a crawl. But everyone once in a while, someone forgets where they're headed, they miss their turn and they end up running into a brick wall. This my friends, was one of those conversations.
The girl at the bar was definitely not racist. An idiot? Probably. A racist? Nope. I've met her kind before: straight from the south, born and raised, probably only met two or three black people in her life (aside from the caricatures that prevail on cable television). She honestly doesn't know the error of her ways. You have to remember, in some pockets of the south, 'Colored' is still the official way to identify blacks. Hell, some blacks there even refer to themselves that way. Mind boggling, but true.
"Uhhh... well, actually... I'm black. And it was supposed to mean that I'm a man and you're a cute girl." I replied. I couldn't help but to smile while saying it. I mean, c'mon. This was just too ridiculous.
"Uhhh, umm... well, yeah, I mean..." she fumbled. "Wow, that's really nice. Hi, I'm (whatever her name was). I just moved here from Georgia a month ago."
We pull the car out of the rubble, and ignite the ignition. It turns out I was right. It was definitely a country mouse meets the city-like situation. She's up here looking for work and trying to expand her view. She went on and on about how backwards her home was and how she's looking for more in life. I asked her how she liked D.C. so far and she said "She meeting new people and learning new things every day."
"Obviously," I dug in. "No, it's cool. Just keep on learning and meeting new people. It's a great town." Hell, I've become the native, haven't I?
So after she got her drink, she begged me to join her and her friend over at a booth. I look over and notice the booth to the side with a single guy looking a bit lost.
"Is that your friend?" I ask.
"Yeah... but it's not like that, really. You should come over. Really." she asserted.
Yeah, of course it's not like that.
"Ehh, I'm probably headed out. I may catch up with you later."
"Stop by the booth, really. I'll see ya."
She headed back to the booth and my roommate eventually rushed to my left. "What happened? Strike out again man?"
"ehh... kind of," I replied.
We called it a night from there. The taxi home never felt so good.