ithinkironyisSOfunny and I decided to go to The Den on Sunset last night to grab a couple drinks and a bite to eat. A nice mellow, casual place for a girl-talk-catch-up-sesh.
Enter Keith. Name has been changed to protect the ego of the offender.
Keith was our waiter. Keith decided to sit down at our table with us.
Ok. First of all, I sort of have this thing about personal space, where I cherish it and do not appreciate when its existence is completely and totally disregarded. Initially, his awkward level of immediate comfort was fascinating enough to render it amusing. I was even willing to crack a smile at his layman banter about the three of us dating. (What? I had just moved back to LA at the time. I was both hard up for humor and hesitant to turn my back on any potential neighborhood-bar-friendship. Momentarily.)
5 minutes later, he was still sitting there, my cracked smile had realigned into polite, obscured annoyance and ithinkironyisSOfunny and I made unobscured eye contact of the whenishegoingtogetupandtakeourorder variety.
The answer was not any time soon. Keith launched into a less than scintillating autobiography. I half-listened, awestruck at his inability to discern that ithinkironyisSOfunnyand I possess individually supreme senses of narcissism and were apathetic about both his career choice (actor) and training center (Beverly Hills Playhouse).
At the end of his diatribe, he stared at me, expectantly. Oh, right. This is where I respond with signs of interest.
"What does ‘ooh’ mean?"
"It means I’ve never heard of that and know nothing about it, but I’m not judging you."
Things started off well.
We finally coerced Keith into taking our order and leaving our general area for a peaceful moment. Our catch-up convo took a turn for the serious, when guess who socially-ineptly chose to slide right back into our booth.
Pregnant pause. Awkward expressions clearly broadcasting the silent version of dude-are-you-serious.
Ignored. Keith was back and ready to chat. This time about the relationship he and I were allegedly about to begin.
Deep breath. Where the F is our food?
Oh. There it is. Being brought out to us by the chef. It had apparently been sitting there for awhile, dropping drastically in temperature. We sent Keith away to procure us some utensils.
He came back with more than silverware.
"Are you a famous actress and should I not be hitting on you right now?"
"Is that a two-part question?"
We then learned that he once told Jon Hamm he should be an actor because he was such a charming man.
Somehow, we got him to leave again and picked up our heart-to-heart chat-sesh, ignorantly believing we would finally be granted a little bestie alone time. When Keith sauntered over again, he was a man with a purpose.
"You guys should come to our karaoke night." Turns to face me. "Actually, you and I should go to karaoke somewhere else. When I’m not working."
Now, I love the sh*t out of karaoke, but even my microphone mania has its limits.
"Your boyfriend would probably be upset."
"You have a boyfriend?"
I nod. “He’s mildly protective.”
Attempt at humor. Awkward linger. Uncomfortable shifting.
Eyes down. Pay bill. Exit Quickly.