This story starts at the end of the pillow fight. I had finished fighting thousands of strangers with a pillow and was pumped to find out what else the night could bring. Cristina, Justin my german roommate, and I took the BART back to the Mission. Cristina had a cold and whined about how she's gonna miss out on all the fun tonight. I had to ask what fun she was talking about. "The underwear party, it's going on at a couple hot bars like Make Out Room and Knockout."
Underwear Party, here I come. To make sure it was going on, I checked it out and found this:
Okay, we're in business. I donned a button up shirt, tie, and sweater on top, and baby blue boxers with a checkerboard pattern of white skulls on bottom. And out I went. Oh wait, before I headed out, we met our new neighbor Kevin from France. Once again, a guy with an enchanting accent he uses to make any girl out here melt for him. It's not fair.
We talked for a bit about advertising since he's doing an internship. Funny what a small world advertising is. We talked, had a drink, and just like my pants, I was off.
Walking around San Francisco without pants on was more of an experience than I expected. It's San Francisco, people are crazy out here right? Who's gonna notice a pair of blindingly white legs? Damn near everyone.
"Wow, only in San Francisco" was what a homeless guy said to me after seeing my get up. A homeless guy called me crazy.
Five minutes later, I arrive at the Make Out Room. It's not quite as lively and loud as I had hoped, but I'm still going for it, if I can get past the bouncer.
"Where's your ID son?" -Bouncer.
"In my pants." -Me
"Well how the hell do I know you're not a cop or one of those guys who busts bars for not carding?" -Bouncer.
"Dude, I'm a writer in advertising. I'm pretty much the opposite of a cop." -Me
"Prove it, tell me one of your lines." -Bouncer.
"Okay, I wrote this for smart car:" -Me.
"Does your daughter really need a back seat? Smart Car. All sorts of safe." -Me
"Hahahaha that's terrible. Go ahead."-Bouncer
In I went. Empty it was.
It was a private party full of middle aged people who all HAD THEIR PANTS ON. Remember the nightmare of being the only one in your underwear? I was living it.
Come on, there has to be an underwear party around here somewhere ... was what I thought as I scoured the bar. Nothing. Great.
What do you do when you're the only person without pants on at the bar? You get a drink. Fast.
"Make me something that will help me forget I'm the only one here without pants." -Me
"One Manhattan coming up." -Bartender
It was awful. I couldn't play it off, as hard as I tried with every conversation I had for the next hour. Everytime, people didn't laugh, they asked who I knew. I would say I knew Levi but we had a falling out. Nothing. Not even a smirk.
Finally, towards the end of my drink, an attractive woman around my age started a conversation.
"Pssst, your tattoo's showing." -Hot girl I don't know.
"I'm protesting denim." -Me.
"Your legs are white enough to light a city block." -Hot girl I don't know.
It was time to call it a night and she gave me a chance for an exit.
"I USED TO BE A LEG MODEL" -Me as I stomped out of the bar and walked home.