To all the Douchebags I've met

Who Hit Their Head?

It's a Friday night. Post-concert where one of my friends sang with her choir. We're huddled up in her close-to-perfection decorated one bedroom apartment. With a beer in hand, my friend Lee howls out the words to Bohemian Rhapsody. He earns a fit of laughter from me, and an eye-roll from my friend.

I'm dressed up in a black dress, tights and black thigh high boots. Black is my one favourite color. It's December already, but the cold hasn't crept over northern Europe quite yet. It's strange being this time of the year.

I take a sip from the strange brand of beer in front of me, and my friend Ashley says we need to get going. 

"It's almost midnight, and things close at one here," she says, and pushed her blonde curls over one shoulder while sipping her cider. She's petite, with a straight nose and icy blue eyes. She's the opposite of me, really. At least personality wise. I've got the people pleaser trait. 

Like a chameleon I always manage to get anyone to like me. I change with the climate. She's the girl who speaks out in class when someone's whispers travel down the rows of desks for the to shut up. The one who rolls her eyes and looks away when she doesn't really like someone. I always smile. A constant smile, even though I might not like you.

"Maybe the Irish pub?" she says, and wiggles her eyebrows at me. I'm surprised, because last week she got completely turned away by the Scottish bartender. That's where I envy her, because she doesn't care a bit. She walks in head high either way. 

I on the other hand, am a little wary of going back there. Because there's also the Irish bartender. He's not particularly good looking, but there's something about him. 

Last week we went for drinks with him after closing. Him and I talked, and my friend looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, and was straight out mean to the guy. I wonder if she's just mean because she wants to be, or if she really didn't give a fuck. 

He was focused on me anyways. I said I'd lived in Dublin, he's from there. He asked if I was single. I said yes. He had a gap between his teeth, just like I do.

He thought I was funny. He said he loved my personality. 

Now, I'm not the one to usually notice when someone's interested in me, and I'm not great at showing interest back. Still, he must've seen that I was interested?

Ashley kept talking about Lee, whom I hadn't met then, because me and him were attending her concert together. I guess it came off as if I was going on a date with him to the Irish guy. I kept  cursing myself in my head. 

We left the bar when it closed and parted ways. He asked if I was going home, I said yes.

I saw him again this week at the pub. We said hi. He asked if this was Lee and I said, "Yeah, Ashley's friend!" and then I just stared at him all night, cursing myself for being so shy and weird. Spoke to him while smoking with Lee. 

He was off that night, hanging out with friends, and absolutely wasted.

I kept making eyes at the Irish guy all night, and it's that weird obsession you get with a crush.

Where is he in the room? Will he smile at me? Will he even speak to me?

No, no he didn't, instead he started talking to my friend - who obviously didn't like him.

Things spiralled into weirdness from there. Lee's friend's showed up. The Irish guy came out for a smoke again. This time, he started mocking them openly. Told Lee's friend she looked like an oompa loompa. Told her strange friend (to be honest he was the strangest guy I've met), that he should stop acting and speaking like an African American rapper. He was, in fact, doing so. In reality he was a Scandinavian skinny white guy wearing sweatpants. I guess the Irish guy had a point in saying that, because I later said he was annoying to his face.

I walked back inside with a roll of my eyes. Still crushing on the asshole.

Fast forward to this Friday. 

We end up at the Irish bar, of course. I'm pins and needles and my friend doesn't give a shit. It's good because that comforts me. If she's okay I am. 

We don't even say hi to the Irish guy. We're sitting outside, drinking Red Ale and singing nineties music streaming out from the live musician inside. The Irish guy's right outside smoking, looking and me when I'm looking away. I stare at him when he's looking away. I don't know what it is about those kind of feelings. I don't even know him. He doesn't know me. All I know is I need his attention. A smile. 

Closing time comes, and I'm leaned against the building opposite the bar. Pining. Staring at him as he pulls the shutters down over the windows, and collects all the blankets put out for guests outside. 

Lee finally says, "Fuck it, I'll go ask for his number for you,".

My heart jumps out of my chest. I don't usually do that kind of thing. I never do that. I'm too shy or embarrassed. I just nod because my voice won't carry. He disappeared back inside the bar, and I'm groaning with a cigarette in my hand. 

Before Lee comes out, the Irish guy does, and relief washes over me. I start slowly walking over, but before I reach him, he holds up a towel with ice and looks around him.

"Who hit their head? I heard someone hit their head!"

I laugh because this must be a joke, right? No one hit their head out there. There's about twenty people roaming around. 

I'm so close to him I could touch him. He looks around, and past me, as if I don't exist. My chest caves in on me. He keeps asking and Lee comes up next to me. Laughing too, because it's a joke right?

The Irish guy keeps asking around, not giving me a single look. 

"C'mon, let's get out of here," Lee says, and wraps an arm around me. 

I'm baffled. Did this happen? Who does that?!

I'm so humiliated I want to cry. Or slap the Irish guy in the face. 

I'm not that girl, I always make sure I'm not. How could I be so dumb? I'm the girl who talked a girl crying so hard she couldn't breathe in the women's bathroom in a nightclub last week into stop crying about an asshole. I'm the girl who tells my friends it's their life, and they can do whatever they want. I told my friend who'd just been dumped to go home with a guy she met at the club if she wanted to - because she could. She was in charge. 

Now here I was. 

How hard is saying 'no'? How hard is it to say, I'm sorry I don't really feel the same way?

Who purposely humiliates another human being like that?

It's strange because it's been a week, and I still think about the Irish guy. Still wonder if he could really have done something like that? Did someone actually hit their head? Or maybe I really did hit my head, thinking he'd be interested in me. 

One thing I've learned is men can be assholes. Some men never grow up. Some stay childish and brutal. 

Some do those kind of things to show their manliness, but really, who's the fool here?