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The Drunken Remark

Way back when in the early 1990’s, the guy I was dating at the time suggested we go to a local bar that was attached to a bowling alley.  I was not thrilled, but at least I thought it would be interesting to see what it was like inside this place that I had driven-by at least a million times.  My usual apprehension about going into bars (which revolved around my weight and getting disgusted looks from guys) was actually pretty low.  First of all, it was early in the day.  Only about 5 p.m.  Probably not a time when the place would be packed with anyone, whether they were “looking for a good time” or not.  Second, I was with my boyfriend.  That was my “protection.”  It proved to the world that, even if YOU didn’t think I was good enough, at least SOMEone did.  And lastly, I knew we wouldn’t be there long.  I didn’t drink, neither of us bowled, and my boyfriend was not usually one to drink in public (too expensive).  I figured we’d be there a half-hour, tops.

We never even made it through the doorway.

The moment I set foot in the tiny bar, a short, heavy, sweaty, drunk, bald guy with his back to the door turned around, looked me up and down, and rolled his eyes.  I was mortified but took another step inside.  I had learned over the years to at least pretend I didn’t notice.

But then he yelled-out, “J—- C—–!  It’s bad enough I have to work with a bunch of fat b—–s all day, now I come here and I have to look at THAT?!  Are you f—— KIDDING me?!”

I instinctively started back through the door I was still holding open.  I know I looked like a deer in the headlights.  All the guys in the place were roaring with laughter.  For a moment I had the dreadful thought that my boyfriend was going to get into a fight when he said something to defend me.

But he never said a word.

He backed out the door as fast as I did.  My eyes started to well-up and my heart was pounding.  I hated my boyfriend for not defending me.  Worse, I hated myself for not seeing this coming – – for not assuming that I would be ridiculed for how fat and ugly I believed that I was.  In a sick way, I actually felt like I had gotten what I deserved.   I wanted to scream and cry and run away forever.  Instead I settled for yelling at my boyfriend for not at least saying SOMEthing, to which he replied that it would have been useless anyway, since there were so many of them.

True, but not in any way consoling.

June 20, 2012 This post was written by Categories: Tales of Terror: My Days as an Active Addict Tagged with:
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