This past Saturday night a large group of us were at Tunnel Top in San Francisco to celebrate my girlfriend's birthday. Tunnel Top is a nice dive with a DJ, good drinks, and a bit of space so it doesn't get uncomfortably crowded.
I was standing downstairs chatting with a good friend, Ryan, and his girlfriend, Carly. I talk with my hands, especially when I've had a drink or two, and I accidentally smacked Carly's glass of wine. It splashed on the floor and we laughed, she gave me "go to hell" eyes, and we moved on.
About 5 minutes after the spill, the blonde in front of us turns around with a look of utter shock on her face. "
"What just happened?" she said, looking directly at Carly. "Did you just spill all over my shirt?"
I stepped in, apologized, and offered to buy them a drink. I even offered to pay to replace her shirt. This odd social fencing match took longer than expected. Ryan and I were quietly quick to agree that neither of these girls were very attractive. Were we single and they better looking we may have capitalized on this bar faux paus.
But, we aren't, and they weren't.
Blonde kept re-stating that we spilled our drink on her. This was clearly accepted and understood by all involved. She also emphasized that her shirt may be ruined. We kept apologizing. This exchange on for about 4 minutes, which is about 3 minutes, 48 seconds too long.
Eventually the blonde and her friend, a fine schnauzer of a lass, seemed to have closure and they walked about 5 feet away.
Me, Ryan, and Carly continued our conversation.
But, closure was not had! Ryan and I noticed that Carly became increasingly more agitated and realized that blonde and her lap dog friend were giving Carly evil eyes. Carly threw up her arms in frustration "What do you want? It's a bar!" she shouted.
Blondie and Scooby came back.
"It's okay!" Blonde explained. "You spilled on us, but you know, you spilled everywhere." She pointed at the floor, in case we weren't aware of gravity's effect on airborne liquids.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'll replace your shirt."
"No, it's okay! But you did spill on us. Look at what's on the floor." Yes, we know what's on the floor.
I turned to Ryan and asked him what was going on. He looked at me with wild eyes and stated simply that he had no clue. A foot away, Carly explained to them that sometimes drinks are spilled in a bar. She spoke very slowly, as if explaining quantum physics to a stupid child.
Alas, Blondie and Marmaduke kept re-living the most awkward and insignificant of bar encounters. Over. And over.
I double checked with Ryan once more to confirm that our earlier assessment of their attractiveness was accurate. He confirmed this for me. Ryan's a good man. It's important to note that by this point we no longer cared about being civil and were discussing this at full volume.
"Hey guys," I said, taking charge of the conversation. "We're sorry this happened. Why don't you let me buy your next round."
"Oh, that won't be necessary," blonde-a-saurus explained.
"Excellent!" I chimed. "Then why are you still talking to us?"
This went over about as well as expected and they left for good.