Making New Friends: Bar Edition
by Elis Bradshaw
My husband and I were at the end of a month-long streak during which we stayed in to watch reruns of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia every weekend night. Having run out of new-to-us episodes, we decided to mix it up and venture outside. A DJ friend was spinning at a bar we could walk to from the train station, so we made our way from Oakland to San Francisco. As a bonus, we would get to meet our friend’s relatively new girlfriend, who he’d been talking up big time. We forgot our umbrellas at home and had to race an approaching weather system from the train to the bar, but we made it inside just before our friend’s set started.
After ordering a couple of Manberries (the drink of choice among our group of friends — mandarin vodka and cranberry juice, you can thank me later), it was time to mingle. It had been a while since we’d been out socializing, and I was among people I knew slightly enough that I didn’t have to worry about damage control; in short, I was not just courting disaster, I was getting down on one knee to propose. Since these things are only clear with the benefit of hindsight, that evening I continued innocently drinking my drink and feeling clever as I decided to employ one standard ice-breaking question for the night. Hey, I was rusty. The question was admittedly self-indulgent: “Do I look cuter with glasses, or [dramatically removing glasses] without them?” (This question was inspired by an older gentleman we met on a trip to New Orleans a few months before. I wore my glasses the night that we met him, and he later sent me a Facebook message saying he’d looked through my pictures and “when [I] took [my] glasses off, [I] was actually quite pretty.” He meant this as a compliment.)
As it turned out, the question was a big hit. Few things get people more excited than the opportunity to judge another person’s appearance. Throw some alcohol on top and offer permission to judge you directly to your face and you have a room full of people who are willing — nay, excited — to talk with you. You might be tempted to feel smug at this point. Beware that sensation. If your life were a movie, the audience would totally recognize this as a moment of foreshadowing.
Halfway around the room (and another drink down), I came upon my friend and his girlfriend waiting in line for the one-stall bathroom. Introductions were made, followed by that awkward moment when nobody quite knows where to start the conversation. Tipsy on vodka and my own cleverness, I turned to the question of the night to rev things up again.
Our friend gave it a moment of thought and made his choice: glasses. (He also muttered something about librarians.) That out of the way, we turned to the new girlfriend, who was looking at me much more seriously than the question demanded. At that moment, the bathroom door opened; it was her turn in the ladies’ room. Next thing I knew she’d grabbed me and slung me into the bathroom, already offering “helpful” suggestions to improve my appearance. I was too shocked to react; it was almost an out-of-body experience that was soon to be an out-of-clothing experience.
She dove straight into an assessment of my outfit (sweater dress, tights, and flats — basic, sure, but not at all scandalous), deemed it unflattering, and then went into full makeover mode by pulling my dress over my head and off my body. So, I was standing in a public restroom with a near-stranger in only a pair of tights and a bra. A bra that she then informed me was ill-fitting and probably the source of all my (her?) problems in that outfit. In case you were wondering, this is not a good look for anyone. But I shouldn’t worry! She had ideas. She could work with what little I was giving her.
Like every other means of improving the feminine form, her fix started with bigger boobs. She grabbed a big handful of scratchy paper towels from the dispenser and advanced on my tender cleavage. Truthfully, I had never considered myself a small-busted gal, having at once point been in possession of a pretty hot set of Ds, and at the time of this incident rocking boobs that spilled over (in a good way, I thought, but maybe that’s what she meant by ill-fitting) a B cup. Reaching out and yanking one boob at a time up and out of its safe little nest, she stuffed my bra with sheet after sheet of paper. Throughout the process I remember her providing tips about how I could make this kind of magic happen at home. She also lectured me on the importance of good quality undergarments. I know she gave me a bunch of other advice that I don’t remember at all.
After at least 10 minutes and several angry women banging on the door, she released me. To the casual observer I emerged wearing the exact same outfit that I wore in, but let me be the first to tell you: when I came out my boobs looked AWESOME.
Epilogue: This story happened a couple years ago. As of this writing our friend and his girlfriend are living together. We have never mentioned the incident.
Elis Bradshaw lives in Oakland. She is currently accepting fashion advice.
