Yeah, that happens to me sometimes.
There might be a psychological term for this and if there is, I have a very mild form of it. It's kind of like when you do something just to see what could happen even though you know there's 99% chance it's going to end badly, but you do it just for that 1% that something crazy good could happen? You like your odds anyway.
I was having that inner battle with myself the weekend I encountered my first real-life bar right. Please, hold the applause. I feel compelled to say now that I wasn't actually in the bar fight, per se. Being in it would imply I threw punches or took punches and homie don't even play that. Not in platforms, anyway.
The Bar Fight.
My college friend who I call "Country" (although she hates that because she swears Baltimore isn't "The South". Baltimore is the south and Westchester is upstate. It just is) came to visit for homecoming weekend so her, one of The Roomates, and myself decided to wander around Astoria and find something to get into. Country, whether she wanted to believe it or not, needed to be exposed to the city and I was going to be the friend to do that for her. This was the night I realized how heavily populated by hispanics my area is - specifically hispanic men. Specifically middle-aged hispanic men. I guess I should have noticed that on my last outing but fishbowl drinks, no dinner, and wine will have you thinking everyone's a Casanova.
We did our "rounds", which included us visiting our go-to clubs, but when we noticed that we didn't like the crowd, aka there weren't enough free drink offers and we weren't in the same incapacitated state as the first time we went there, we needed to find a more lively scene. This would have been a problem easily solved by going to a more lively club, but I had other plans.
There's this place that always plays good music but never has anyone in there nearby so I convince them we should check it out on our way to a new spot just so we can listen to the music for a bit. As we approach the restaraunt/club we see that the bartenders are wearing underwear (full bra and panties sets) and the guests have got to to be their cousins, brothers, and relatives of some kind because everyone looks alike. This should have triggered the "don't go in there" alarm, and it did - until someone mentioned an open tab and us being more than welcomed to use it...
At that point it was kind of unanimous that we were going in there.
First problem - The music cuts off as soon as we enter and everyone stares at us. I joke around and ask if we're being punk'd but no one answers. I probably should have left here too.
Next problem - My friends are sending me all types of signals that it's time for us to get out of there. Country is visibly uncomfortable while this short hispanic man whispers sweet nothings in her ear, or rather . . .slobbers in her ear. It wasn't a pretty sight, but I figured we'd oblige and be social for five more minutes and then I'd say I was feeling sick and needed to get home asap. I didn't have much of a problem with the guys because I had my "f*ck off" face. You know the one.
I will say that the one good thing about the bar was that they had this awesome kareoke machine, and I really can't pass up karaoke.
Just as I'm considering stepping up to the mic, Country's inebriated "date"gets mad because his friend pulled off his toupee (I don't make this up. It happens). He very sloppily throws the first punch with a near-miss to my friend's face and I take this as the most obvious cue for us to leave.
Third problem? - The door is blocked by everyone that's trying to break up this fight so I literally duck and dodge my way to the entrance only to have the bartender signal the owner to block us from leaving. Why? Because those "free drinks" weren't so free after all.
I'm sorry? There's a fight in your establishment with some old man who offered to buy us free drinks and you're HALF-NAKED, but the problem here is that we're trying to leave? Go sit down.
Of course as soon as we're going to leave, the guys decide to make nice (???!!!!) and look at us like "Where do you think you're going"? So now we're the bad guys, and b*tch Nhya has to come out. Just grrrreeeeeatttt.
I size up the situation. Those two guys could barely fight each other, so I'd say Country, my roommate and I have a decent chance if it comes down to it. Then there's the whole issue of my platforms. I decide that the responsible thing to do is convince the owner that he doesn't want to keep us because we're not paying no matter what he says, I could have him locked up for selling alcohol to us minors (Not true, but whatever) and his drunk old man friend is the one he needs to talk to about the tab. It works.
I'd tell you the name of the place, but it's not worth it. Just know I won't be going back.