Cock Block

I went to DC a couple of years ago for St. Patrick's Day.  I was single, had a green shirt, and I had a place to crash.  If I was making more than your typical retail salary, it would be the ideal situation.  Other than Bruce, who's place I was crashing at, I had no ties to anyone there and during St. Patrick's Day, everyone there was ready to party.  What happens in DC, stays in DC, no?

Bruce knows me better than anyone else, but all that basically means is that there are very few things I could do that would surprise him.  So if I decided to be someone else this weekend, he probably wouldn't of even thought twice about it.  I didn't really have a set plan when he picked me up from the airport.  I just planned to have a lot of fun.  I asked him what he had planned for St. Patty's Day, he didn't really have a plan, just to grab a bit to eat and perhaps drink at his place.  His two single and female roommates decided otherwise when we got to his apartment after dinner.

So the two girls, (lets name them Barbara Ann and Rhonda because of their ties to Beach Boys song titles), brought us to a bar where Barbara Ann was supposed to meet with this guy who she thought liked her.  She didn't seem too enthused by the idea but was willing to meet with him.  We'll name him Carl.  Carl brought his friend who had also flown out from California.  This guy was in total "wing man" mode.  While I had no interest in Barbara Ann (probably not a good idea to try to hook up with your best friend's roommate while in town), I decided who I was going to be for the weekend.  Carl's cock blocker.  

Carl would buy us a round of shots, presumably to get Barb pretty plastered.  His douchey friend would try to have interesting conversations with Bruce, Rhonda and I.  But whenever Carl muttered anything about going to his place, I would enter the conversation with some sort of alternative idea.

"Hey Barbara, if we go back to the apartment, I'll play you a Brittany Spears song on guitar!"

This would excite Barbara and cause Carl to order another round.  I would dance with her and find ways to make her laugh.  I knew what was going on and I wanted to make Carl pay for it.  See, what was going to happen was inevitable.  She was going to go home with him.  It sounds callous, but this was just her way, but since I wasn't informed of this until the middle of all of this, I reveled in playing the role of the spoiler.  I was doing the right thing and was being rewarded with drinks that I couldn't afford.

On this trip to DC, I decided that out of all the personas I could've chosen for the weekend, I wanted to be the hero and I failed.  Unfortunately you can not save those who do not want to be saved.  I think Barbara ended up dating this guy, which puzzles me, and is probably a worthy story in its own right, but I will never be able to tell it, because the second I stepped on that plane going back to California, I was no longer the hero, I was just me, and what happened in DC was going to stay there, as far as my conscience was concerned.