Bob.

I'd had a whole half pint of cider, so when he stuck his tongue out at me I stuck mine out back. I could tell he was one of those guys. Not washed in a while, kind of sweaty from the effort of throwing down so many beers in tight convoy down his throat, on the prowl. So naturally he approached the table.



"Ladies!" he said, swaying awkwardly from side to side and doing that point with the thumb-as-a-trigger thing as he attempted to wink. It turned out as more of an exaggerated blink. "I'm Bob." I suspect he thought he was talking to a table of nine girls. His gaze was sort of blurred.





"Hi Bob!" we chorused.



"And who are you lovely-" he hiccuped at this point, "-girls?" I winced at his choice of words.



"Natalie," said my friend, whose name is not Natalie.



"Courtney," said my friend, whose name is not Courtney.



I thought on my feet, and quickly. "Lorraine," I said, offering a hand. Natalie and Courtney approved of my ability to catch on so fast. I could tell.



"Lorraine. Wow. You're not from round here, are you?" Bob asked. He was looking to the left of me, but I'm pretty sure it was me he was addressing. "Your accent... are you from Ohio?" He laughed manically and sprayed the table with saliva drops. I looked at him.



"No! Wait! France! I can tell by the hat." Bob seemed very pleased with himself, which is strange because although he wasn't wearing a hat that said I've tried my pissed up luck with every vagina in here and STILL I haven't got laid I was able to figure out his gameplan.



My friends whose names are not Natalie or Courtney looked pointedly at my beret. "Mais oui, Je suis Francais," I smiled. And Bob looked at me. "I knew it! I can always tell from the hat! Always by the hat," and he shook his head slowly and sort of giggle to himself, as if to say, "Man, they make this SO EASY."



My friend who is not called Natalie looked at him. "It was nice meeting you Bob. Drive safe."