The beer tap (Terra Juana fan fic)

THE BEER TAP

I can't believe I let her talk me into this. Well, I know how she persuaded me: it's because I'm totally unable to say "No;" when someone asks me for a favour, I cannot refuse and today was no exception. Moreover, the person who has asked for it is a very good friend so saying "I'm not interested" was very difficult. And here I am, for the first time in my life, about to have a blind date.

Anne and I work together in the same cultural foundation and we've forged a friendship based on cups of coffee, crispy calories in the form of cookies and doughnuts and strong criticism towards our boss every time we take a break. The man, a mama's boy with only one neuron echoing in his brain when he speaks, is one of those that, when you have an eyelash in your eye, he goes for a kiss in less than one second thinking that you were winking at him and it was a sign. The poor man still doesn't understand why I haven't fallen limply to his feet like most of girls at the office have done blinded by his custom-made suits, his golden watch and his sports car. Well, it's because I'm a lesbian. No, not Lebanese. Lesbian you stupid moron! Seriously, I hate him.

But if there's one thing I hate more than my boss they're the matchmakers. Like my friend Anne. So when she said "I have a friend that you would love and she likes girls" it scared the hell out of me. Because what heterosexual matchmakers don't seem to understand is that, in order to have a funny blind date instead of a dead trap, both parts need to have something in common like, I don't know, you both have a horribly bad taste in music or you both go to the cinema to watch tedious documentaries. I mean, you both need to have something in common besides being lesbians. And then, you're sitting in a restaurant with a girl and you can't find any topic of conversation while your friend is at the same place where you'd love to be: at home, in front of the TV with a tub of chocolate, caramel and nuts ice cream, happy because she thinks that she's introduced you to the love of your life. But actually your night has been a succession of awkward silences and you've ended up looking like a social incompetent.

That's why I avoid blind dates like the plague but this time I couldn't escape. She just went on, and on, and on... "You'll see her, my friend is so funny and lovely. Well, actually she's my boyfriend's cousin but that's great because then we could double-date sometime." Finally I said yes just because I was tired of listening to her, she was giving me a headache, but I knew that it was going to be bad. I knew it. These things always end badly but sometimes there is the faintest possibility, a chance in a million, that you're lucky and your friend's friend is cute, funny and loves David Bowie's music as much as you do. So I took the risk of giving fate a chance. Just in case, and because I didn't want my night to be a totally waste of time, I told Anne that we'd meet at the new gay bar that has opened in my neighborhood recently. I had never been there before so I could take a look.

So here I am, walking through the door of this new place, wearing a little black dress, stratospheric stilettos and my most beautiful and expensive black lace underwear. It's not like I actually think that I'm going to get laid tonight, but it doesn't make sense to wear my granny panties if I've taken de time to put on make-up and dress to kill. The new bar has an Irish pub vibe: dark wood, checkerboard stone tiles on the floor, a long and shiny counter, tall stools, old lamps and tables with chairs scattered around. The open space in the middle has been transformed into a dance floor and some couples and groups are busting some moves already, music's great, the atmosphere is nice and beer is excellent judging by people's appreciative remarks around me. It's still not packed with customers but it's obvious to me that this place is a great success and soon the line out the door will reach the next block.

Making my way through the dancers I finally sit on the last free stool round a curve at the other end of the counter, next to the entry that bartenders use to get in and out of the bar. I try to climb to my high stool in the most elegant way I can without showing my lace panties to the audience and I nearly got it: I think the bartender that has walked right past me to get behind de counter has seen something. She's flashed a teasing smirk and a wink in my direction. "Great," I think blushing "now I remember why I never dress like this." Placing my clutch purse on the polished wood surface I wait for one of the two bartenders to get closer and ask for a drink. The pub is getting a little crowded and both of them are too busy right now, it seems that it's going to take a little while for me to get my beer.