Tiffany, you really should reconsider your life choices if you are that desperate." "It's not you," I spat. "She's a user." "Well," he said, "you can tell him that he is." "I'd be delighted." "By the way, did we get a drink Friday night at Shooters?" "I didn't think you were going there." "I had a coupon." "It must have been a slow night if you bothered to get a coupon." "What's the matter? Don't you think the owner's cute? If he was a guy I'd still be with him. I'll be back in a minute, I'm going to the bathroom." I made my way to the can at the back of the bar, where I saw my ex-boyfriend talking to the barmaid. "Hey," I said in passing, "I think you need to tell her you are not my boyfriend, and I am not your bitch." He looked at me, and said to the girl, "We're not together. In fact, I'd rather be with her." The girl gave him a look, and said, "I'm not a whore." I turned away, and when I turned back he had asked her out. I couldn't help but think that the whole thing had been staged for my benefit, because one, we weren't together, and two, he was a flaming ass-hat. Now I walk into this bar full of people I know, and they all start looking at me with this contempt. As I make my way through the crowd I say to myself, "That's right, I am a bad person. I am a horrible person." By this point, every drink I ordered got watered down. What was wrong with these people? I had to find my friends; I needed somebody to talk to. I looked up the bar and saw them all huddled at a table by the front window. I walked over to say hello. This is when it hit me; they were the ones staging it. I thought to myself, "Oh, these are the people from the other night. They are the ones who picked me up and made me think I was celebrating my last night of freedom. God, they know me so well. My friends know how much I love Shooters. I love that bar so much I didn't think I'd ever be in a place where I didn't want to go home with somebody I met there. Now that I am out, what is it going to be like? The drinks are going to be watered down. I will have to fake a smile as I listen to their stories of how they are all making it, "on their own." That's the night I learned that they don't have their own table. You get it, table. Do you? I walked over to them, and said, "What's up? How are you guys?" "What's up with you?" "What happened? How could you leave me alone in this bar with that asshole?" "You know, Tiffany, you just can't help yourself." I wanted to say that I wasn't thinking about him when he was in the room, but I refrained. "I don't know what he said to you, but he had absolutely no right to treat you that way." "Yeah, right," I said. "I know." "Where's Brad?" "He was bored with the conversation," Lori said. "We didn't want to talk about work. No, I am sorry, you guys don't have to hang around here. I'll be fine." "No, we're all going to stay here." Brad said. "What a drag. I mean, for me it was easy, I was actually quite enjoying our discussion. I don't know how I could end up with a girl who actually speaks during a conversation. That never happens. At least not in a social situation." He turned to look at me, and said, "You're not going to believe this, but I've never had a conversation with a girl in my life who did not work and was not either a bartender or a secretary. Are you an accountant?" "No, I'm a bookkeeper. You're thinking of those girls in the office, those with white-collars who wear glasses. I don't think you've ever met one of us." "No, I suppose not." "A bookkeeper, huh?" I said, "So what do you do?" "What do I do? I am the fucking president of the company." "Oh, yeah, me too. And I am the president's girlfriend." "I didn't know you guys were dating." "So, Brad, what company are you in?" "That is privileged information." "He has a point," I said. "He is making a lot of money." "Yeah, and I make some pretty nice noises." "I'll bet you do. My boyfriend has a very sweet gig at a publishing house. I can't wait for you to meet him. " "That's so weird." "What? Why? I don't get it." "Because I work for a publisher too." "Yeah, it is kind of odd, but it is really cool." "I'm not sure how much I should say, but it is really cool." "Yeah, Brad, you and I have got a lot in common." "I'm not so sure I should be talking about my company." "He's fucking with you." "No, that's really it." "Just talking about how cool it is, and then whispering into his drink about a possible merger." "Yeah, that's the deal." We were all laughing about how the subject was so strange, and I said, "I mean, I can see a company being interested in our stuff, but still. It is really cool, the amount of power a CEO has over people." "I know, and that is what I mean. The guy is a jerk." "Yeah, he is," I said. I took a sip of my drink, and said, "Brad, you are the most boring person I know." He frowned and said, "I guess I really shouldn't talk." "You are boring. I know it's the job and everything, but even your friends are boring. Have you ever been to one of their houses? Even their houses are boring. I mean, the art is nice, and the furniture is pretty, but everything is boring. They don't have a clue what is going on in life. They don't know anything about music, books, art, movies, or plays. They are so afraid to show any kind of vulnerability that you can't talk to them." "I guess you're right," he said. "It is like they're all on this same stupid hamster wheel and we all need to run on it together." I wasn't sure if he had really accepted what I had said, but when we met outside Lori introduced me to Dave. He looked like a complete slob. He was sweating in this suit. I looked at the name tag on his shirt, and it said "Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave." It was pretty clear that we were talking about the same person. "David, hello," I said. "Hey, sweetie, thanks for coming down." He kissed me on the cheek and said he would be back in a minute. I said, "So you're Dave." "Yeah, and I just got that last promotion in the company, so I have to put on a suit and learn how to talk to people." "A suit? Where are you going to wear that?" I asked. "You look like a slob." "We need to talk, woman." "What about?" "Our conversation earlier." "Oh, the girl in the bar. I really wanted you to go back in there and beat the shit out of him, but I didn't want to miss the chance to thank you." "I don't think so, but thanks." He stopped and asked, "How come you left?" I finally said that we had finished the first round of drinks. That seemed to satisfy him. "I just wish I had the balls to tell him to fuck off." "He is a complete piece of shit, isn't he?" I said. "If I see him again, I am going to give him a fucking." "Thanks for the support, sweetheart." "Oh, you know, well, it's what you deserve. I'm going to go back in. I would