It was then that I feel a couple gentle pats on my ass and fat man who was around 6'4 and 280 pounds saying "good game" to me. I looked up to him to see him staring right back at me. So, I said what just about any man would say at that point: "What the fuck!?!?" He said, "It's not gay if you say 'good game.'" To which I exclaimed as I walked away, "Well, it's a little gay, isn't it?"
I think this guy was looking for a fight or something because if he kept doing that, I would say he would be likely to find someone ready to fight. I'm not homophobic, but it turns out I really don't like gentle pats on my ass from strangers. I guess I never knew that until someone did it to me. He said "good game," and that statement goes along with one slap with decent force. That I might have been put off by too, but I wouldn't have felt . . . violated.
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| These guys both thought he had a good game. |
So into the beer festival, feeling a little icky, but after a few samples I had forgotten all about the man-on-man sexual harassment I had encountered moments before.
If there are any lessons here they might be as follows:
1. Don't pat the rear ends of anyone you don't know. If you have developed a bond with someone new and you just shared a victory in a sporting even or even watched one on television, then maybe, but still no. Saying good game and doing an ass pat on someone you never met and shared no experiences with is just weird and creepy, so don't do it.
2. Try the Chocolate Peanut Butter Porter by Horny Goat Brewing Company. It's absolutely delicious and helps you forget things.
Good game, readers.
9 comments:
I blame the beer promotion. I read about 10 cent beer night in Cleveland and a riot broke out on the field. But it was Cleveland so I guess that was not unusual. I remember in high school when the bullies used to give me "titty twisters", so I know what your experience must have been like at the game.
I think your reaction was good. A couple of pats on the bum isn't sufficient cause to start a fist fight, but you let him know it wasn't appreciated. I'm glad there are real beers in America rather than the stuff you have to chill.
Jimmy: A titty twister does not make you feel like a man, I would bet. Especially if one has womanly breasts. Hope those bullies get their man boobs caught in a car doors.
Gorilla: I think you're right. Mrs. Noisewater was mad that I was yelling "the gay word," but she understood when I told her what had happened. America has killer craft brews. Does England have some good ones?
Been harassed in similar situations. Not too into it to be honest. Definitely helps me to empathise with women. I don't like women touching me without permission either.
Many years ago, at an office Christmas party, the boss's wife clandestinely squeezed my ass. Nobody was looking and she reached over and grabbed a handful. And I'm not joking. She was a B-list TV reporter at the time and thereafter, every time I saw her doing a remote report, I'd say to myself, "That's that woman who squeezed my ass at the office Christmas party."
that's tow truck creepy.
Is it a coincidence that you talk about ass patting and then recommend that we drink Horny Goat beer? What are you trying to do to us, Dr. Ken?
I had that beer the other day and was pleasantly surprised. I could probably only drink one, but it was good. As far as the man pats go, I wouldn't be down with it, but I'd also chalk it up to that guy being trashed. Maybe he's just a butt-toucher. I'm not defending his butt-touching, but I think you were right not to fight him.
Fred: Yeah, it's our bodies. Our choice to be touched or not. Even if it's woman on man stuff. But sometimes that's welcomed.
Exile: She wanted to grab ahold of what she and her husband rightfully owned.
Burjan: True. Right up his alley of creep out tactics.
Shife: I'm telling you the stuff is delicious!
Wave: I was proud too, but it was 11:30AM and I was stone sober. I think things could have been different if it happened a couple hours later. Good to see you, man! I'll swing by the blog and see if you've updated.
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