Monday, January 06, 2014

Do I Look Like I Won't Cut You?

Sitting at home after a day of raw food cooking with not much else to do, I remarked to the Boy “I feel like I am forgetting something.”

“Huh. I wonder what?”

At five it hit me. I had promised to go to a holiday party hosted by my quiz teammate, the Realtor. Our quiz team was doing all right and I wanted to go out and do her holiday thing. Remembering this at five on a Saturday was not a good idea.

“We could still go,” said the Boy.

“Let me check the invite.”

“It says 'into the night.'”

“Let me call.”

So I called.

“This is Sara. I totally got the dates messed up. Can we still make it?”

“Well the party is only just starting to get inappropriate.”

“That is usually my cue. We should be there in an hour.”

So I packed up four bottles of wine, poured myself into a dress and with a careful walk to the car in the freezing rain, we hit the road for downtown Chicago. Aside from the weather, the traffic was good and we made it in roughly thirty-five minutes (which was not bad at all), and were able to find parking in short order as well.

“You know, I haven’t been in many residential buildings in downtown Chicago, but pretty much every time I have been in one, it’s this building.”

It turned out that the Realtor and her husband lived in a building that was also occupied by some Shimerians, so it was a place that my love has had occasion to visit more than once. The apartment was lovely, quite cozy actually, reminding me rather a lot of Korean apartments, being both compact but practical in layout; the difference was that the bathroom was larger and had a tub. Otherwise a lot of similarities. The view, of course, was fantastic.

As we arrived I introduced the Realtor to the extra bottles of wine I had packed in and passed off some pizza chips and nachos to the crowd for consumption.

“Are these gluten free?”

“They are everything free. It’s basically just flaxseed and vegetables.”

“I can eat them then,” remarked the asker, whose name was lost, but who reminded me by looks rather a lot like Jonah Hill, except with red hair. He was nice enough and was introduced as an old high school friend, whereas I was introduced as an old college friend.

The other party attendants included one other Sara (who was clearly very drunk), a dark latino that looked to be either Mexican or Cuban (but I never had a chance to ask), an older couple that were lurking about and talking to the Realtor’s husband, a bouncy copywriter who was also clearly quite drunk, and my boy. I talked a bit with the Realtor and figured now would be a really, really good time to have wine. I had the first glass while trying to have a coherent conversation with the other Sara. She, on the other hand, was being as insulting as she possibly could in Spanish to the Latino gentleman. They were clearly friends and she was clearly using this as part of a convoluted subplot to get into his pants. I’m sure she thought she was being insultingly cute. I thought she was just being insulting as I could actually understand what she was saying. The Latino she was aiming it at apparently was being charmed by it anyway as he was responding. I wanted to stay out of it, but of course had run out of wine.

The bottle I wanted ended up being next to the Latino, so I asked for the bottle. When he didn’t move I reached for the bottle, and he grabbed my wrist hard.

I had two immediate reactions. The first was to immediately freeze up and the second was to want to punch him. Fortunately for him I took a deep breath instead.

“Take your hand off me.” I said it low and quiet but I made a point.

He removed the hand.

“Sorry, sorry; I didn’t mean anything by it.” Then he tried to grab me again.

“Seriously don’t touch me, just hand over the wine,” I wanted to say give me the fucking bottle and walk away, but I managed to be somewhat polite about it.

No comments: