I wrote about the amazing standing ovation for the service men and women on Saturday night at Pete's but I left out something else that happened that night because they were in such stark contrast to each other.
About 15 minutes before we left, I went to the bar to close my tab with my friend Jenny. While we were standing there the guy standing next to me was served twoYaeger Bombs. Yaeger shots with with a shooter of Red Bull. That meant 4 glasses of unequal size. The bartender told him it would be $15. For two shooters! I kind of laughed and looked at him and said, "that sucks, $7.50 each??" He said, "yeah," laughed a little and then tried to pick up the glasses. I had just finished signing my bill, and this guy said, "Hey, you think you could help me carry these?" in an Australian accent. Jenny and I kind of looked at each other, like, is he trying to pick us up or does he genuinely need help. I looked at the akward glasses and said, "sure." We carried the glasses over to his friends about 10 feet away where he said "thanks", and we said "no problem." Then we went back to our group.
About 5 minutes later, he came over to where we were standing and said hello. Since we had kind of met at the bar, it seemed rude to completely blow him off, although I wasn't really in the mood to talk to anyone, particularly a guy at the bar who had tried to hit on me and Jenny by having us carry glasses. But we were about to leave, so I talked to him for a couple minutes figuring I had a good out when everyone left, and now and then Jenny interjected comments into the conversation. I could tell he was from Australia so to make small talk I asked what he was doing here. He said, "working." So I said, "doing what?" To which he replied, "Just working." At this point I am about done being nice. This guy was obviously not a conversationalist and was hiding something. I decided to give it one last try. "What do you do while you are working?" "I play football," he replied. "Cool. For who?" Then almost in a whisper he says, "The Dallas Cowboys." As though this were the worst job in the world. I obviously did not believe him. He was about 6'1" and not built like a "football player." But then I put two and two together. Earlier in the evening, someone had sent a napkin and some money up to the performers, and they announced that the Punter for the Cowboys was in the house. He, of course, did not go up to the stage. But now I am putting things together. He is either actually a Cowboy, or he is some jerk pretending to be a Cowboy and using what had been announced as a catalyst in his conversation with me. So, still not convinced, but curious, I said, "really?" Showing both my curiousity and disbelief. He said he could prove it. He pulled out his wallet. Inside he had an NFL card, and an NFL business card with his name on them. And peeking out of the top of the billfold was a student ID from the University of Hawaii. I am a little more convinced at this point. I mean this is pretty cool! I am talking to (well possibly talking to) a Dallas Cowboy!! We talked for a few more minutes and I shot him down when he asked me to stay even though my friends would be leaving (still not convinced he was a Cowboy) and he went back to his friends.
Just before we left, on our way out, I stopped by his group and said goodbye, just to be courteous. We talked for a minute or two more and he...ASKED FOR MY NUMBER!! I told him straight up that I had a boyfriend, but he said, "well, maybe we can just go get coffee." I am thinking, if he really is a Cowboy, there is about no chance in hell he will ever call. And if he's not then he's a complete jerk and I won't answer his call anyway
. I had already determined I would look him up online when I got home. But what the heck! My number would be in the cell phone of Dallas Cowboy!! No harm in that!!
So I tried to give it to him. But for some reason, I could not remember it! I was messing up the area code. Finally, I remembered it, and started to give it him. He said, "you are giving me a fake number." I laughed. "Ha, no. It's real. Here, call it and my phone will ring and you will know it's real." So he did. And my phone rang. And now, I have the phone number of a Dallas Cowboy in my cell phone!! Too cool! Oh, and by the way, when I got home, I looked him up. Sure enough, he really is a Cowboy! First string even! I was hit on by a Dallas Cowboy! Good times!