A little while ago, I found myself at a bar in Hoboken (where I live) with two of my friends. This isn’t unusual.
We were drinking fairly heavily, it was a weekday and one of those two friends, en route to the bathroom, was chatting with someone (a girl, in this instance) he seemed to recognize from somewhere. This, also, isn’t unusual.
As I sat at our table with my other friend, we laughed how our buddy always seemed to know someone (male, or female) everywhere and was remarkable at striking up conversation with people in public. Time carrying on as it normally does, I realized that for some reason, this girl my friend was talking to actually looked familiar to me as well.
I should note, this girl was pretty, but in a very unremarkable sort of way. The sort of way that caught your attention, but not that made you lose track of the conversation you were in, if you catch my drift.
I asked the friend sitting with me if he recognized her, if there was anything about her that caught his eye. He said no, but I knew I knew her. With nothing other than my conviction, I told my friend (and the other one once he returned to the table) that I planned on getting her attention once she passed us on her way out.
Sure enough, that moment came shortly.
“Hey!” I shouted in her direction.
She stopped, but mainly because there were a total of (maybe) six other people in the bar.
“Hey,” I repeated. “Did you go to Villanova?”
Confused, she admitted that she had.
“Do you have a somewhat attractive, blonde-haired friend that lives in Jersey City?”
The confusion still sat heavily on her face, but it had begun to lift. She admitted in the affirmative, once more.
“Do you remember who I am?” I asked, with what I’m sure was a shit-eating grin plastered on my face. Before she could answer, I continued, “You walked out on me and my friend at a bar, at Pourhouse, about a month ago. Remember? You two said you were going to the bathroom, but you never came back. I was one of those guys.”
She laughed, unsure of what to do next. Or, better yet, unsure of what I was going to do next. But, I knew for certain she recognized me now.
“It’s OK,” I laughed, truly at ease. “I’d have left me too. I’m not going to bust your chops about it, I just knew I recognized you and wanted to make sure this was how.”
Again, more giggling and confused conversation. She stumbled around for a few minutes, saying how it was really all her friend’s plan and how sensitive she is and how she wouldn’t have left us like that if it wasn’t for her friend and how she was actually having a great time that night.
“No, you weren’t,” I said. “But that’s OK.”
She continued to try to convince me that any and of all that bullshit she had spewed was true. For the record, I honestly couldn’t have cared if it was (or wasn’t) true. I just wanted her to know that I recognized her. And have her deal with that awkwardness.
Not that it’s eye for an eye, but I doubt I’d ever walk out on two (admittedly, semi-hot) girls at a bar, so this was the best I’d get.
Score one for us.
This story is from a while back, maybe two or three years ago at this point. But, seeing as how I was single then and single now, Jewish with an Italian last name then and now, and attracted to women then and now, I’m pretty sure it still applies.
I am, 
scott spinelli 