While standing outside at Murphy's, I hear a group of guys next to us talking about an episode of This American Life, which I've also heard and liked, so I start talking to them. They are very cool and friendly and enthusiastic about talking to us, or, they would be, but they are from Wisconsin. Goodbye. I have no use for you.
(1) I have nothing against people from Wisconsin, and in fact believe that they are lovely, and human even, just like me; however, in this context (a bar outside of Wrigley Field), I don't care to hear, ad nauseum, about how you like the bars, people, places, and sporting teams of Wisconsin so very much more than those of Chicago. I get it. It's nice to be proud of the place from which you hail. If you like it so much, then go back to there. Don't come here and say you hate my city while you're drinking all of our beer. And please tell your brother to stop humping my leg. That kind of thing may be OK where you come from, but here in the big city, it's considered a bit gauche.
(2) While drinking vodka lemonades from a fountain at Casey Moran's, we are seated next to a table of two men with their sons on their way to the Cubs game. The fathers are talking to us, offering us their food, buying us drinks, while their sons are quietly eating their chicken strips. It's fine. You're just having a fun day out with the guys. I get it. You have issues about how your son is so obviously gay. Most 9-year-olds don't cross their legs like that or wear shirts that color or have voices that pitchy. But why don't you talk to him instead of to me and my girlfriends? Why are you ignoring him? Look at him in his little gay t-shirt, eating his french fries, and not wanting to go to a baseball game. Either pay some attention to him and get excited about the game, or take him to do something he wants to do, like go see Phantom again, or the Jonas Brothers. I want to cry for him. But yes, I WILL eat your left-over sliders! Please pass the ketchup.
(3) Please don't slap my girlfriend's ass so much. Maybe ask for her phone number and smack her ass at home. She likes it. It's OK. It's just a personal preference of mine not to have to see it. Plus, you're spilling her beer.
(4) Kindly don't look so much like my girlfriend's ex-boyfriend, if you can help it at all. Do you have to be wearing the same shirt and hat, and use his catchphrase to boot? She's choking up at the sight of you, and now I have to try to make her forget him, which is hard, with this guy humping my leg and the ass of my other girlfriend being assaulted so much. My sad girlfriend is feeling left out, and now she's pulling out her phone and starting to make some bad decisions about texting, which is going to ruin our day.
(5) You of the plaid-shorts-wearing brigade: is there only one men's shorts shop left on the planet? We all can agree that these shorts are preferable to denim cut offs and to the ubiquitous khaki cargo short, but these new shorts are really douchey. Can nothing be done?
(6) Old guys sitting at the bar thinking you're pulling off mid-30s by hiding your old man faces under baseball caps and wrap-around shades: my girlfriend is totally going for it. She likes older men. But do you have to act so grossly like creepy letches? Quit touching my thigh and asking me where I'm going next and goading me to drink faster. I'm keeping my guard up for just the likes of you. I don't want to ride on your motorcycle. I know you took your wedding ring off. And sleeves. Why did you leave your sleeves at home? I know you did a bench press some time earlier in the year, and you're thinking about buying a BowFlex, but take it from me, you could really use some sleeves on your shirt. I don't date men over 40 and I don't talk to men in bars over 30, and I realize that this strategy is woefully flawed, so you can be my wingman, but please do so without stroking my thigh. It isn't there for you.
(7) Guy my age who is reluctantly talking to me: Yes, I too am painfully aware that I am not 23, but I have such a great personality! Doesn't that count for anything?! Please stop looking over my shoulder at the 23-year-olds behind me who are pulling off tube tops in a way that makes me want to kill myself. Oh, fuck it. I want to sleep with them too.
(8) "Wanna go back and talk to the guys from Wisconsin?" "Yeah, may as well..."
