Things that make you go 'Hmm'

I was reading Barton's blog today and his entry reminded me of something which happened last week (like I said,I'm still a beginner.)

Anywho- we were on a business trip to a smaller town in Missouri, complete with factories, a town square surrounding the courthouse, and a state college!
Population: 10,000.

Now, being prone to quick judgments (and living in a city of 200,000+) one immediately thinks 'Nashville Star' as opposed to 'MTV's Cribs'. I mean, after all, society has trained us that 'small town' = 'Walmart' while 'Big City' = 'DKNY', right? My point being: that you wouldn't expect to find 'Club Scene'-- even Rural America's version of 'Club Scene' --in this place. 10 gallon hats and day/night cowboy boots, maybe. Country music, definitely.

The kicker about this little hamlet is there's not one, but three bars playing urban faves. Two of 'em are complete with DJ's and hangers-on, of all things. You've got all the 'Big City' treatments: doormen (who also know how to slaughter meat, bale hay, etc.,) cover charges, ladies nights, beautiful people, Red Bull,vodka and Jäger Bombs. It's almost surreal: walk out of the watering hole on the corner (replete with stainless steel piss troughs, shuffleboard, pool table and plenty of beer)and walk next-door where you enter through a darkened tunnel into a thumping, pulsating, sweaty mess. But when you wake up and look out that motel window it's back to the rolling, windy prairie.

So, my work mate is quite a toned fella, master playa, OTH 5 nights a week keeping his liver in fighting shape. He lives to party, and does it well. Let's call him Man Dibbles, or MD for short. We were quite tipsy by 11, having had an extremely early 3-hour dinner with the higher-ups (who we promptly ditched just after arriving at the motel.) At about that level of inebriation, MD gets into ho-dar mode and stealthily circles the perimeter of the dance floor, searching for a lockable target. I usually am leaning by this point, observing the master at work.

On this particular evening I saw something which I had never seen before: a quite-openly gay lad. Of course, the girls he was there with were drop-dead gorgeous so MD was lurking in the shadows, focusing ho-dar beams in their direction. At some point I look over at MD and there's QOGL talking to him like they're old pals. "Hmmm" I says to myself. "This ought to be interesting."

In no uncertain terms, I could never have imagined that their conversation would go on for so long. When it finally ended, curiosity got the better of me and I just HAD to know. It turns out that QOGL wanted to know if MD was there with me. ME! Like I was MD's bitch or something. QOGL wouldn't take 'NO' for an answer, either. He was quite the persistant fellow; I was waving the golden-ringed left hand in front of him/her and shouting "I'm married!!!" QOGL was undeterred at first, but my will was strong and eventually QOGL got the hint.

It was hil-f'ing-arious, so funny that when the ladies finally showed up (they took a very late flight,) we had to share the entire story with them during the afterglow back at MD's room. It was repeated in detailed fashion, and unfortunately these ladies don't keep secrets. (Clueless man-question: Do they ever?) By the time we arrived at the factory office the next morning, the story of QOGL had flashed through at a speed heretofore unseen outside of wildfire season during the Santa Ana winds. We were the butt of many, many good-natured ribbings that day. I guess ya' had to be there.

Good Times, good friends.