So if West Lafayette is like Pullman, Regular Lafayette is like Ellensburg. A rarity since I have been in Indiana, I had to parallel park to get in there. There were a lot of other bars on the street, and I was a little disappointed not to be there on a Saturday night. This was a nice place with a restaurant and families. They had a “Please wait to be seated” sign that had been purchased from the same catalog that every other “Please wait to be seated” sign had.
I walked past the sign because I was going to the bar, and that sign did not apply to me anyway. The natural spot to sit was at the right end, but there were open stools on the left end, and that was where the action was. I sat to the left of some old professor and to the right of a good looking college girl. She was not rude or stuck up, but she wasn’t interested in me so I left her alone. The barmaid was very pretty, college-town-older, and wanted to be noticed.
Maybe she was 30, but in a place like that, it made her a MILF–and she knew it. There were also two dudes working the bar, but they were less interesting. I was the lone stranger at the bar, so therefore I was the most interesting to the MILF.
“I feel so lost today,” she said, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.
The college boys at the bar took the bait like she threw pellets into the koi pond. A chorus of harumphs and whatsamatters came, but she glared at me as if to say, “I didn’t get a harumph out of that guy.”
She was stuck talking to them a little more about how she was hungover and didn’t feel like working. Apparently she had been down at the such-and-such bar and didn’t remember what she had been doing–eyeing me the whole time.
Finally she came back down to me and sold me a beer. I informed her that the best cure for a hangover was not charging me for that beer. She chuckled politely, but I wasn’t joking. I am not sure why I wasn’t interested in her–she was gorgeous–but I just wasn’t. Maybe because she smelled like manipulation.
The desperation game turned up when she stood in front of me and turned to her coworker and said, “If I wasn’t such an ugly woman, I would be better at my job.”
The harumphs reminded her that she was gorgeous/beautiful/hot/good at her job.
I said, “You know, that’s really the story of my life too.”
“You are an ugly woman?” she said as if she had me.
“My dear, I am a horrible woman,” I said. “I am not good at it all.”
Then I paused for comedic timing.
“But,” I said, “I am an amazing lesbian.”
The harumphs erupted in laughter and she got mad and turned red. I don’t know what she was mad about though, I had basically announced to all that I was a master of the oral arts.
I’m not good at speaking, but I am a cunning linguist.
She and I never spoke again, and I ended up talking to the old professor next to me about baseball. We agreed that Edgar Martinez should be in the Hall of Fame and that Pete Rose should not. He was a White Sox fan, which I appreciated, because there are not many of those outside of the Southside. We were both purists, but followed American League teams.
I suspect that the food at Lafayette Brewing was pretty good–but I didn’t eat any. The beer was generic, and I don’t even remember what I drank.
The television was showing MASH reruns with no sound. The old professor and I talked about that too. Sergeant Maxwell was ahead of his time for pretending to be gay so he could get discharged. A character that could not exist in modern television, yet was so simplistic when the show aired. The professor was also unaware that there had been a movie prior to the television show, and that the theme music was actually a song with morbid lyrics called Suicide is Painless.
As we became more infatuated with the MASH episode, the MILF barmaid decided to turn the channel to an infomercial. As it turns out, there is something called a MagicJuicer, but I don’t plan on ever buying it.
I finished my beer and left. It is always a disappointment to me when a hot girl decides that she going to be a petty bitch. If she was unattractive, it would bother me less. I don’t mean to sound chauvinistic, but if a hot girl wants to act like she is owed every bit of attention, and then pouts when she doesn’t get it, she essentially devalues her own stock. When an ugly girl does this, she does it out of frustration, and has every right to be frustrated. I can respect that. At least she is trying.