By AlCantHang © 2004
"How long do I have to wait before I'm officially stood up?"
I was speaking to my latest bartender/confessor as he poured my third double. He shook his head and put the bottle back in the rack.
"How long have you been waiting?"
"Nearly 40 minutes."
"If she's not here in five, the next one is on me."
I had met this young cutie at a company function the week before. We had set a date for the following Friday and now I was beginning to wonder if she was going to show. We were both drinking heavily that night and she might not have remembered. I wasn't getting too anxious. It wouldn't be the first time I had been stood up.
Almost exactly five minutes later, she rushed in the front door of the bar. Apologies and explanations were pouring forth as she took her seat at the bar. None of this was really moving me because I was three doubles in and completely relieved that she even showed up.
When she finished her explanation, I called the bartender over and spoke two simple words that would change everything.
She looked confused and I just smiled along with the bartender. When I asked for her preferred liquor of choice, it finally hit her.
"Double Rumpleminz, sir. Her penalty shot."
The beautiful young woman just looked at me and said plainly, "This is going to be an interesting evening."
As we finished our drinks, we made easy conversation and made our plans for the evening. A friend's band was playing down the block and we decided it would be a good time. After dinner and more drinks we took a nice stroll down to the next bar.
We walked into the bar and immediately ran into my friend Tim. When we walked over to greet him, she seemed very surprised that we were well acquainted. He joined us at a table and the drinks flowed once more.
Here's a little trick that I found that girls use. They will occasionally invite a friend along on the sly as a cover if the date goes bad. What really screwed it up for her was that I knew Tim longer than she had.
The drinks were coming nonstop, the conversation was deteriorating, and my date was becoming visibly intoxicated. It culminated with her coming over to me sitting on my barstool, climbing me like a sequoia, and planting a big, soul-sucking kiss.
"I have to go powder my nose," she whispered in my ear.
Two thumbs up from Tim after she walked away and I made my way for the facilities also. When I returned, I found her walking towards the front door with her jacket on.
What the fuck?
I caught up to her and realized the problem. She was completely obliterated and was in obvious need of getting the fuck out of dodge. The lovely girl apologized for the second time that evening and asked me if I'd walk her home.
The three blocks to her house, we were more holding each other up then walking with each other. Arms around each other, thumbs locked into the other's belt loops, leaning on the other to keep from staggering too much.
"Would you like to come in for awhile?"
She was drunk but was also young, beautiful, and way out of my league. We walked into her bedroom and she left me sitting on the bed alone for awhile. When she returned from the bathroom, she stood in front me, bent down, and laid another one of those knockout lip locks.
She whispered one more time, "You've got to go."
Stunned, I walked out of the apartment having no idea what I had done wrong. As I began the useless three-hour drunken search for my car, I heard the faint, yet distinct, sounds of my new beloved losing her cookies in a violent manner.
I smiled and walked on. This one was a keeper.
That was my first date with the beautiful woman who would later become Mrs. Can't Hang.
Al Can't Hang is a gentleman and a seasoned SoCo-ologist from Phoenixville, PA.
July 20, 2004
Stories from the Bar: Almost Stood Up
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