In February, Chris and I were at our local pub, The Raven, following a delicious Valentine’s Day meal. Most of our friends were meeting up there and everyone was in a good mood.
It may have been February but inside it was 27 degrees (Celsius, of course) and humid. The place was packed beyond fire reg capacity, I’m sure! We were all enclosed in this tiny room with foggy windows, juggling our winter clothes and drinks and trying to make small talk over the background noise of others.
This is embarrassing to admit but in these situations, I sweat. I’m talking wet, sticky hair with drips rolling down my temples. Gross, I know! I feel like everyone is breathing my air and it makes me nervous about getting sick. Once, in school choir, I fainted and fell off the risers. Clausterphobia? I’m not sure.
I had to get out of there and cool off, so I grabbed Chris and we stepped outside. One of the locals was already outside, having a cigarette.
From what I can remember, he was tall and lanky with long frizzy ginger hair and a full beard. He was wearing a very distinguishable outfit: a vintage plaid shirt with pea green trousers rolled up so that they were about 3 inches above his ankles. He had on suspenders as well, and his trousers were hiked up to his belly-button, at least.
But I didn’t really pick up on these details until a few seconds later.
I said to myself, “Whoops, I brought my drink out with me… oh well!” and just then, my phone rang. My ringtone was (and still is) ‘Paper Planes’ by M.I.A.
Lanky ginger guy actually replied (and I’m not making this up), “Maybe you could get away with it if your ringtone didn’t suck so much.”
Excuse me, seriously…! Of all people to prejudge me, that guy?!?!
