I enjoy whisky. I enjoy drinking whisk(e)y in bars with friends and having a good time.
There are a few days of the year when will avoid drinking whiskey in a bar.
Christmas – because that time of year is for rum. It’s my mother’s birthday. Also, most places are closed.
Mother’s Day – because I have to take my mother out to brunch, so I need vodka…
St. Patrick’s Day – because of stupid people…
I’m a light skinned Black woman. I’m a bit melanin-challenged. My family nicknamed me “Casper” as a child. Bronzer is my friend. A marketing person would describe me as “racially ambiguous” in the creative brief. Every year that I’ve gone out on St. Patrick’s Day, without fail, some drunk White guy will come up to me and say, “do you have any Irish in ya?”, and I will respond “Yes. As a matter of fact. I do. On my dad’s side. Do you?”
One year, I felt particularly evil and convinced some young buck that was Black Irish.
Because that conversation gets real old real fast, I have generally avoided the aggressive and green beer-fueled come ons on this day. But one year, my co-workers made a BIG deal about going to a local Irish bar…and made an even bigger deal that I didn’t want to go with them.
Finally to shut them up…I went.
I had one coworker who really liked her whisky…and beer…and shots…and tequila…basically she was carried home from all the holiday parties. Tonight was no different…but just before she blacked out, she got her holidays mixed up and thought it was Valentine’s Day. She was going to play matchmaker for me!
“OMIGOD. I just saw this guy at the bar that would be perfect for you! Totally your type!”
(yeah, I doubt it)
“I’m gonna introduce you two!”
“Let’s not. Please.”
“COME WITH ME!!”
For someone who was barely taller than a Smurf, this woman was very strong once the likka got into her. I had to hang on to furniture to keep her from dragging me to my “destiny”. I figured that my “destiny” was like Ben Affleck’s character in Good Will Hunting and that is NOT my type.
“Fine. I’m gonna go get HIM and bring him HERE!”
Now, there is a benefit to being the same height as a leprechaun…because she darted off and no one could catch her. Five minutes goes by…ten…now I’m getting nervous. Has she successfully played wingman or has she passed out (again)?
Just as we’re about to search the nooks and crannies of this crowded bar, she comes back to us. Red faced and giggling.
She started to chat my “destiny” up…turns out he’s in our industry…they have people in common…he lives kinda close to our boss’ house. Of course now she’s ready to present him to us…
“Are you here by yourself?” she asked him with a smile.
“No. I’m here with my wife…”, gesturing to the woman standing beside him. Who has been standing there the entire time while this woman chatted up her husband.
Her. Black. Husband.
My co-worker found the ONE OTHER BLACK PERSON in the bar and figured it was our destiny to meet.
Except that he was there with his WHITE (and as luck -heh- would have it, Irish) wife.
His now PISSED off wife.
She pointed to my “destiny” as he and his wife made their way out of the bar in a somewhat hasty manner…