Okay, I went to a jewelry party yesterday. It was very nice and hosted by two very personable women. The jewelry representative was on point with her sales and had beautiful displays of product to show and talk about. My sister and I went and we both spent more than we said, but the quality and price of the jewelry was worth spending the extra money.
Now with every sales party there is always a down side. First, I have to say, there wasn’t a down side to where the party was held, but more so the one man who wandered in. The venue was a lounge/bar. It was early in the day, so no bar regulars were there and probably wouldn’t start coming in until after the jewelry party was over.
The host had a wonderful spread of appetizers to offer to her guests and you could purchase a cocktail if you chose. As the jewelry representative is going over her merchandise and helping the guests with their purchases, a man comes in to interrupt the good time….sigh.
First, he stands at the back of the room near the bar making comments to let the women know he is there….no big deal. We women can block out the biggest nuisances when spending money. Ever been in a mall during a sale…our feet can be hurting, arms heavy with packages, but we still manage to find the strength to fit one more bag or walk that extra length of the mall to get to that must have item…endurance baby.
Not liking he was ignored and probably feeling the testosterone boiling to boost his ego, he moved closer. Still throwing lines from then 1970’s or earlier. Some of what he was saying I had to give a raised eyebrow.
Anyway, continuing our ogling over the sparkling jewelry and burning credit cards in our wallets, we ignored Superfly sporting his work clothes at the bar. He had his drink in hand, and maybe had a few before he got there, made the move---he bought a round for the women in the bar.
Yeah, he got them where he wants them now---free drinks! The bartender graciously takes the orders of those that accepted Superfly’s generous offer of free cocktails, thanking him with nods and smiles.
With cocktails served, a break was taken to enjoy the appetizers and to socialize among each other; Superfly’s bubble was busted yet again. The free drinks did not garner the attention he was seeking. (1) the women in attendance were not there looking for a man, (2) we are spending money, so even if you were the hottest male on the tube or in print, you wouldn’t have been noticed and, (3) he was starting to hit a nerve.
Doing number (3) was probably the worst thing he could do. A room full of women and an irritating man is a recipe for trouble, but Superfly wasn’t done yet. He had one last ace in his pocket. The host offered Superfly food. We are talking finger foods here, not Subway. Why do I mention Subway--because he asked for a meatball sandwich. The host, annoyed, said nicely, “I can’t make a meatball sandwich.”
He declines the food since he couldn’t have it his way. Finally, he pulled that last card and the one that let him know he should move on while he still had legs. He whipped out a $10 bill for the jukebox to get dances. Superfly has fallen from the seventies back to the forties or fifties. Did he think he could buy dances for ten cents or better yet ten dollars?
At that point, I think, he knew he made a mistake and first tied to correct it by saying he didn’t know there was a party going on and then by offering to buy a watch. I guess the display tables with all the jewelry was part of the bar’s décor and the fact there wasn’t any jewelry for men displayed or any other men present besides the men that worked in the bar, didn’t give him much of a clue either.
The women handled it with grace and dignity by only burning him with stares. Superfly backed his singed wings back to the end of the bar and out the back door. He had to be the only customer that purchased products (drinks and $10 no-lap dances) that day and didn’t have a bag or receipt to show for it.
When my sister and I left, we saw the battered Superfly standing at the front entrance of the bar outside. A storm was brewing and the winds had picked up. I wonder if he was wishing he could catch a breeze to fly his wounded ego home.
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