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.
The end.
3 comments:
Nothing wrong with white legs, less risk of skin cancer!
I had a breakthrough in MY dream last night. I was the only one naked while everyone else was clothed...and I wasn't insecure about my penis. At least for part of the time. This is the first time that's been the case. Maybe it means something awesome is about to happen. Or something terrible.
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