So, he's one of
those guys who walk around showing off, bulldozing their way through the crowd
and winking at every and any girl along the way. I really couldn't
care less, but he's somehow always in front of me, pushing his way into the crowd or elbowing me and
stepping on my feet all the time . Something I don't really appreciate.
And so he gets to
talk to a girl and (as I'm guessing) they decide to sit on a bar and talk a
bit. It's more of a big crate of some sort than a bar, but being that it's an
underground club, it serves the purpose of a bar more and more.
He jumps on it in
one go, probably showing off how athletic he is. She's a bit more on the shy side and it
takes her some preparation and bottle-and-glass translocating, but she still manages somehow. Now there are full as well as empty glasses surrounding
her in at least three directions. She's even leaning against an almost full
glass of Erdinger, but she's giggling and smiling and enjoying herself and,
ultimately, not noticing.
Being
the freak that I am and seeing that glass as a potential threat (a wet floor,
hectic frenzy, a stampede and a violent death), I move it after a couple of
minutes of looking at and observing it as if it were the only thing in the
room.
There,
now it's in in the middle part of the table and more or less safe and posing no
threat. Phew, right?
They roll up a couple of cigarettes and look
around for a light. As if it's going to turn up from thin air. He turns around
toward me and waves his hand in front of my face. Maybe he thinks I'm a
magician or something. Or that I'm blind. I only know it's annoying.
He
shows me an imaginary lighter in his hand and the cigarette in between his lips
is jumping up and down like an eel. I gesture empty hands and no cigarette in
them either, but he's still looking at me, probably hoping I'd be the one to go
around the club and ask for fire.
He, of course, is not moving his ass and me, going all private-Ryan on another couple
of glasses and bottles that keep clacking around as those two laugh and swing.
And among all that glass I see a box of matches. Right behind the douche's back.
So
I pick it up and open it to see a single match. Kind of Fifth Element, don't
you think? Being that it's dark, I can't even see if it's burned out, but I
poke him in the back and hand it to him. He glances at me as if I was asking
for money or I'm his lackey or something.
He
makes an okay-it’s-not-a-lighter-but-it-will-serve-the-purpose kind of face and
lights his and his supposed girlfriend’s cigarette.
And
it’s a non-smoking club.
