Yeah, so, the other night mighty, mighty good man David and I went to 21st Amendment to grab a beer before we went to a friend’s party.
We sat down at a corner table with our beer. I was sipping my MCA Stout (which is a little lighter than I like my stouts to be, but it was good and very drinkable on a warm San Francisco evening), and I was trying to remember the last time I was at 21st Amendment. Then I remembered. Here’s the story …
The last time I was at 21st Amendment was a Saturday in April 2008.
I had just broken up with my boyfriend, and I was feeling a little emotionally all over the place. I was feeling stoked to not have him in my life anymore. He was a dark cloud; a real Debbie Downer. Oh, I don’t have to be polite. He was an asshole (a cheatin’ asshole I found out later). But I was also feeling disappointed in myself for wasting a year and half of my life on someone that I knew wasn’t right for me. And, even though I was glad I didn’t have to put up with his shit anymore, I wasn’t really looking forward to being single again. I was single for seven years before that asshole (which is probably why I was with him as long as I was), and — deep down — I was afraid that I was going to be alone for another seven years, if not forever.
Like I said, I was emotionally all over the place.
Good buddy Kate called me and suggested we go to a Giants game. Great idea. Baseball makes me feel better. So, Kate, DH, Allison and I went to the Giants game, where I proceeded to drink many adult beverages.
After the game, we went to 21st Amendment, where I proceeded to have several more. At 21st Amendment, a couple of dudes started chatting us up. These guys were clearly douchey, but they seemed harmless enough. By this point, I was — what’s the legal term? — hammered. I was hammered. Someone decided we should get something to eat, so we went to Osha Thai.
So, there we were, Kate, Allison, DH and I, sitting at this table with these two dudes at Osha Thai. The waitress came to take our order when one of the dudes says, “I just got back from Thailand. Can you make my order ‘Thai hot’?”
“Umm, sure. I can make your order spicy,” the waitress replied.
“No, no. Not spicy. I want mine ‘Thai hot,’” the douche explained.
The waitress bought us our food, and apparently she decided to punish us for this douche’s request. Everyone’s food was “Thai hot.” It was completely inedible. This is the point of the story where my memory gets fuzzy, but good buddy Kate filled me in.
She said it went like this …
Everyone tried to eat the “Thai hot” food, but they couldn’t. The food was so hot that they had runny noses and their eyes were watering. Kate looked over at me, and I had my head in my hands. She thought, “Oh, the food is too spicy for Sonia, too.” But then I looked up, and I had tears streaming down my face. I was really crying at the table.
“I don’t want to be here,” I sobbed. “I don’t want to be here with these assy guys.”
I looked at Kate: “Is this what is out there for us, Kate?”
I started crying harder.
“Did she just call us ‘assy’?” one of the assy guys said.
DH took her napkin off her lap and threw it on the table like a penalty flag. “Dinner’s over,” she announced. The ladies threw some money on the table, and we piled into a cab.
I remember apologizing to the ladies in the cab, and DH and Kate started laughing that those guys were, in fact, assy.
And that’s my story about the last time I was at 21st Amendment until the other night, when I was there with my mighty, mighty good husband that I met 7 months after that breakup, not seven years. Good times.
Happy Pride weekend, you guys! After the Prop. 8 and DOMA rulings this week, and the fact that the courts just lifted the ban on gay marriage in California, San Francisco is going to be epic this weekend. To all the folks who are getting hitched this weekend because they finally can, I wish you all the love and laughter in the world. Being married is pretty cool.