Any Aryan Will Do
I don't have much time to write today, but my home computer is being shipped to me as we speak. Godspeed, little laptop.
Swex Dwarf was as fun as I thought it would be. Highlights include, but are not limited to: hearing "Kiss Them For Me" by Siouxsie and the Banshees on a dancefloor, starting a fight on the street between two fellow, law school alumnae and getting hit on by many, many people.
I am not bragging. Usually when I go out with friends, social capitalism rears its head, and I land somewhere off of the demand curve. For some reason, probably the freaky clientele, I had drinks bought for me and pelvises thrusted into me all night long. These are not necessarily great things, but you know I love attention.
One guy in particular, introduced himself as Red. He had red hair, natch, and came up to my chin. I would call him a leprachaun were he cute or carrying a pot of gold. He seemed a bit out of place, but was having enough fun that he didn't really notice. For you, I present a simulated transcipt of our conversation.
Act I, Scene 1
[Fluid dance club sets the scene, people are dancing and making out, the protagonist steps up to the bar to get a drink]
Red: You know, you must be thirsty butting in here.
Me: I dehydreate easily, sir.
Red: Ooooh, I love Irish guys.
Me: [confused] Oh, do you?
Red: Oh yes. Where are you from on the Emerald Isle? I LOVE your accent!
Me: What? I am not from Ire....(realized he won't get a free drink unless he lies). Galway. Yes, I am from Galway.
Red: Let me buy you a drink.
Me: Oh heavens! I couldn't possibly bother you like that!
Red: I insist. Tell me about why you're in America.
Me: I came here for law school. And of course, to escape the potato famine.
Red: You are too much!
Indeed, I am too much. I am not even from Ireland. My family is not at all Irish; they're mostly German and Welsh. Usually, people mistake me for being Jewish, but this Irish thing was new. Anyway, I got 2 coronas and a vodka and cranberry out of being Irish for the night. I didn't even fake an Irish accent, but I did tell him that I loved Frank McCourt. I don't.
I justified the whole episode by telling myself that I was selling a dream, furthering a fantasy, not so much fabricating my background.
I stopped getting drinks from him after he asked if I liked red bush. I told him I had nothing against red bush in general, but I probably had a problem with his red bush specifically. Ick.
It was bloddy fine while it lasted, though. You heard it here first: I highly encourage lying to procure free alcohol.