Member-only story
The Time an Old Man Hit on Me
I approached the bar, cash securely in my hand. The female barkeep was bustling about, deftly juggling glasses that didn’t quite look clean and multiple bottles of bottom-shelf liquor.
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” she hollered, without turning to look at me. Bartenders apparently have eyes in the back of their heads.
“Sure thing,” I said. This triggered the attention of a grizzled man appearing to be in his late sixties. I accidentally met his gaze, and his expression immediately changed from bored to lascivious.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” I said, in a terse tone that I hoped he would pick up.
He did not. He started to approach me.
I’d surveyed the room when I came in: one older woman at the bar, three men sitting and smoking. No one young, no couples, no one who didn’t seem a little rough around the edges. All the same, I made a panicked glance around the room. Nope, no one to save me or even pretend that they knew me.
The bartender was still busy.
The old man was now facing me, sitting on a barstool with legs spread suggestively. He looked confident, as though he was certain this was going to go his way.
I desperately wished I hadn’t forgotten my wedding ring, although given his attitude, I…
