Stop trying to get yourself a handful

An acquaintance said DJ Pinye was playing at some club and that we should check it out. I said sure, because I haven’t heard him play in years. Plus, you can be sure that where he plays there will be no millennials with their strange jeans and silver shoes, staring at their phones.

We get there and the place is sardine-packed, no room to swing a cat. There is a massive screen playing Horace Brown. (Every generation has a crazy Brown; ours was Bobby Brown, this era it’s Chris Brown). We walk around looking for seats. I see a lady I know holding court at a long table, so I ask her if we can share the table.

“Sure, but I’m expecting a few friends, if they come you might have to give them the seats,” she says. She’s drinking wine, so we send her another glass and when it comes in a small wine glass that can pass for a tot glass he’s leaning into her ear, telling her an Irish joke over the loud music. She’s wearing a short, white silky dress with a large pink bougainvillea petal on the front. She’s got big hips, a massive rear and a small, brittle smile.

My acquaintance and I are sharing a bottle of whisky because we plan to make it a long night, plus we aren’t driving. Her friends come much later but by that time, we have owned the table so they join a different table.

At some point my friend leans into my ear and says, “She is nice.” I laugh and ask him, “Nice like lemon tea?” He asks, “Is she single?” I tell him I don’t know her that well, but if we ask her she will tell us. So I ask her if she’s single and she says she’s single. “You men are a handful.” (Oh if I could get a penny each time…)

NO DRAMA

Anyway, half-way down the bottle Pinye starts playing and everybody starts dancing. Now this acquaintance isn’t the best of dancers, and I say this as someone who isn’t a good dancer either, but if we are to compete I think I would beat him on the dance floor with my two left legs and a hand tied behind my back.

At some point my friend, the lady, tells me, “Listen, I don’t want to cause a scene here but could you please ask your friend to stop touching my ass?” (I hope the editor doesn’t remove the word “ass” because it will change meaning). I am shocked because he doesn’t strike me as a person who would do that.

“He did? Are you sure?” I ask dumbly. She rolls her eyes and hisses: “Am I sure? If someone touched your ass wouldn’t you be sure?” I raise my hand and say, “OK, OK, I’m sorry. I’m just… well, shocked. That’s horrible. Maybe it was a mistake. I’m sure it won’t happen again.” So the night wears on and we dances and Pinye is – as the younger generation says – “killing it.”

I go to the washroom and run into my university roommate called Juju who I haven’t seen in 13 years. “Listen, come meet my pals and have a whisky,” I tell him as I drag him to our table. We get there to find things table icy as the North Pole – so icy that Juju leaves.

My female friend tells me, “That’s it, I’m going to slap him.” “Slap who?” I ask. She says, “Your pal. He keeps putting his hand on my ass as he talks. It’s really pissing me off and the only reason I’m not causing a scene here is out of respect for you. But I’ve had it.” I say, “Oh boy, I will talk to him.”

So when he goes to the washrooms I follow him and tell him, “Boss, she doesn’t want you to touch her ass, she’s pissed off. Stop it, bwana.” He looks shocked. “Oh gosh, I didn’t... I’m sorry... I thought she was cool with it.” I say, “Well, she isn’t. She’s going to slap you if you do it again. Let’s all have a good night, shall we? If she slaps you, it will ruin everybody’s night.” He’s high. He covers his mouth with his palm and says, “OK, I’m sorry,” and I tell him,” Well, you didn’t touch my ass, so go tell her you are sorry.”

My friend is about 47 years old, an otherwise distinguished and intelligent gentleman who works as one of those public policy advisors. But alcohol has a way of stripping man down to who he is, away from the numerous degrees and accolades, and leaving him just as the man he is. If you want to know the real person, have a drink with them. People reveal themselves when inebriated.

But mostly I wonder the kind of manners you have to have to grope a woman you barely know – or even one you know. It’s not fresh. It’s demeaning and crass. It also makes the other men you are with look bad.