Odd Conversations

At what point does one's perception of oneself have to give way to the reality one seems to be confronted with?

I've thought for some time that I am an agreeable person. I'm not terribly outgoing and convivial most of the time, but I'd like to think that most people, when they meet me, will think I'm a nice guy. Weird but nice.

I can live with weird but nice.

Through a few blogs in the past couple of years I've posted "Odd Conversations" kind of blogs... where I relate (as the name implies) odd conversations I've had with people. This is another one. This is more of an "Angry Conversations" one, though, which is kinda consistent with the previous "Odd Conversations" blog where I related how I was able to piss off three people within 20 minutes while entirely sober and entirely accidentally.

So... I keep talking to people. I keep making some of them mad. How can I reconcile that with my self-image? I mean. I can, because I'm an extremely creative rationalizer. But ought I?

In any case. Onto the close approximations of a pair of conversations.

The first one happened a recent Friday at Ozzie's. I was drinking and singing with a few buddies and the night was winding down upstairs. As is normal, the dance floor is hopping with people dancing and/or just moving around, talking.

I was standing on the edge of the dance floor, listening to someone sing and just kind of... waiting. For death. Or last call. Whichever came first.

No matter how busy the dance floor is, there's a constant shifting of people on and off. Dudes pushing their way on or couples wandering off to get a drink.

When a tall blond woman and a guy came within talking distance of me, I wasn't surprised. She looked at me for a minute and I don't remember what I said initially, but the first thing a guy says is almost never the most important and it's rarely the most memorable. The other guy retreated quickly and our conversation was rocky. To wit:

Me: So you having a good night?
Her: *shrug* Yeah, pretty good. (Looks over at a friend.)
Me: That's Thor. You wanna meet him?
Her: No.
Me: You sure?
Her: (Rolls her eyes.) Uh... yeah.
Me: OK. Whatever.
Her: I'm Maggie. Who are you?
Me: I'm Ed. Good to meet you.
Her: Yep.
Me: So did you sing tonight?
Her: No.
Me: Did your boyfriend?
Her: (Looking bored) ...
Me: Yes. That was lame.
Her: Yeah. Just ask me if I have a boyfriend.
Me: (Shifting my body away from her) ...

At that point, she turned away, as well, taking a step away. I thought it was over. It's rarely over.

Two minutes later, she turned back towards me and took a step to get back within talking distance. And our conversation picked back up.

Me: So, do you have a boyfriend?
Her: I'm between boyfriends.
Me: Ah... like I'm "between jobs". Whatever.
Her: What?
Me: I was just saying...
Her: You need to take it down a notch.
Me: What?

At this point, we were interrupted and it gave me a moment to think. Take "it" down a notch? I hadn't touched her, and while I was being a BIT of a jerk, I wasn't being over the top.

We were interrupted by a guy who was coming up to say "goodbye" to her. I got the sense that he had some expectations, like he was in her group or something. Whatever he expected, he didn't like the cold shoulder he got. I think she said two words to him before he kinda nodded at me and left.

And our conversation resumed.

Me: "Take it down a notch?"
Her: Yeah. Like your attitude.
Me: I'm being a jerk? Really?
Her: Totally.
Me: The funny thing is that I actually am a pretty nice guy. Maybe TOO nice.
Her: Hmm. (Looking around, towards my OTHER buddy this time.)
Me: That's TM2000.
Her: He's a good singer.
Me: Yes. He's great. So's Thor. Did you want to meet one of them?
Her: *sighing discontentedly* No.
Me: What are you looking at, then?
Her: Someone interesting.
Me: Ouch.
Her: What?
Me: That's a shot at me, huh?
Her: *shrug*

And at that, I turned away again and took a couple steps away from her. I think I saw her briefly downstairs on the way out but haven't talked to her since.

It struck me as odd because we both seemed to be going out of our way to talk to one another even though neither of us were enjoying the conversation at all. TM2000 later told me she wasn't even that cute, but that was before he knew she thought he was a good singer...

The other conversation occurred late Saturday night. I was hosting at Ozzie's downstairs and the wait was about two hours. People who turned in a song with the hour or so that was left were not going to get in unless (a) a lot of people left early and/or (b) they tipped me.

Tipping gets you bumped in line. That's just the way it works when I host.

A party of people had put in like four slips. I let them know they might not get in, and I gave them an overview of the rules, ensuring they knew that tipping was NOT required... and that even if no one else tipped me, they might not get to sing. The person who turned in the slips looked a bit disappointed, but not upset.

Ten minutes later, a drunk guy from that party wandered up to my area. He looked over my shoulder at the slips, all lined up in order. There were about 20 songs in the queue, and he saw that the four people he knew were right at the end.

He got a bit too close to me, and I had to start another song so I asked him to wait. Once I got the other one rolling, I stood back up and talked to him. The guy was quite inebriated. He had a crappy goatee, blurry eyes, some sort of crappy cheap necklace and overall a bad attitude.

Me: Heya. What can I do for you?
Him: How does the system work?
Me: (Overviews the signup; I had no idea who he was.)
Him: Why are some people last?
Me: Who?
Him: (Points to the slips in question.)
Me: Well, they just turned in the slips like 5 or 10 minutes ago. No one has turned in any since they did. So they're last.
Him: How do slips move up?
Me: Well, they move up over time or if people tip me.
Him: I don't think that's fair.
Me: What?
Him: Treat people the same!
Me: What?
Him: Those people (touches a couple of slips in the middle of the line, getting a bit closer to me in the process)...
Me: First of all, those people have been waiting for a while. Secondly, don't touch the slips, please.
Him: I don't think that's fair.
Me: Listen. I'm sorry. Do you have a question?
Him: How does this work?
Me: Um. I told you that about 30 seconds ago.
Him: (edging even CLOSER to me) I don't think it's fair.
Me: I'm sorry. Listen. Everyone has the opportunity to tip, or wait. It's entirely up to you. I will try to get everyone in the list up and singing. Do you have a question?

At this point, he was REALLY close to me. Like within 5 inches of my face. Without taking a step back behind my podium, there was really nowhere I could go. He was just staring into my eyes, kinda wobbly-like, and I could tell he was very, very angry.

I guarantee you if I would have nudged him to give myself some space, he would have taken a swing at me.

I redoubled my efforts to keep my calm and, after all, he WAS the customer. I worked for him, although I drew the line somewhere this side of letting him clobber me.

Me: I'm sorry if this is unclear or if you don't like the process. You can speak to the manager about it. Please, though, I need you to step off of the singing platform. I need to change the song in like 10 seconds and I need to keep this space clear.
Him: *stare* *stare*
Me: Please, I don't want to call security. You will get kicked out.
Him: *stare*

And then he backed down. Literally.

I don't know how I would have called security. The place was packed and the music was loud and if he had tackled me he would have had every opportunity to pummel me before my security amigos made it over.

It's a good thing that I am not allowed to (and do not) drink while I work there. And it's a good thing that I didn't still have my longer hair. He probably would have headbutted me on general principle.