Holding Out For A Clear Owe

“If someone at a bar buys you a drink, you owe them conversation until the drink they bought you is finished.”

We were sitting at Phoenix when a friend who was visiting from Philadelphia told me his policy. I wasn’t completely sold on it at first.

“What if you don’t like him?” I asked. “What if he’s horrible, or hideous?”

“If you take the drink, you owe him a conversation,” Philly explained. “That’s the rule.”

“And of course you’d never turn down the drink.”

“Say no to free alcohol? Are you crazy!?”

At first, I thought he was the crazy one. But as I thought about it over the next week, the idea made some sense . If you accept a drink from a stranger, clearly you owe them at least a thank you, and perhaps some polite conversation. If you can’t muster that, shouldn’t you just refuse the cocktail?

The following week, I was flipping through HX and landed on the horoscope page. I automatically glanced to my sign.

Sagittarius

It’s easy to forget that a good time doesn’t have to cost an arm and a leg. Stick to your budget, queen! Hit up some open bars and never turn your nose up at someone who offers to buy you a drink – no matter how fugly!

It seemed even the stars agreed that turning down free booze was bad form. And the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with Philly’s theory.

Saturday afternoon I sat down for brunch at Philip Marie in the West Village with J-Blo, TightLips, and EverybodyLovesAden. I brought the subject up as we sipped our Unlimited Mimosas.

“If someone buys you a drink at a bar, do you owe them anything?” I asked.

“No!” exclaimed J-Blo adamantly.

“I have to sleep with someone just because they buy me a drink?” asked EveryBodyLoves Aden.

“What if you want to sleep with him?” asked TightLips.

“OK wait,” I said. “Of course if you are attracted to them and want to talk to them, then it’s not like owing them – it’s something you want to do. But let’s assume it’s someone you are not particularly attracted to. You just walk away – you don’t even say thank you?” I directed the last question at J-Blo, in response to his initial refusal.

“Well of course you say thank you,” J-Blo conceded.

“And then you walk away?” I followed up. “Or do you chat with them for a minute or two?”

“Well, I’d talk to him,” J-Blo admitted, “but I talk to anyone. That’s how I roll.”

“I wouldn’t take the drink,” said EverybodyLovesAden.

“Me either,” agreed TightLips. “Not if he was ugly.”

“You’d turn down a free drink?” I asked. “Just because you didn’t want to talk to someone for 5 minutes?”

“Yep,” said TightLips.

“Not me,” chimed in J-Blo, “I’d take the drink for sure.”

I told them Philly’s rule. “If someone buys you a drink, you owe them conversation until you finish the drink they bought you.”

EverybodyLovesAden replied, “Fine. I’ll just have them buy me a shot.”

I gave him a sarcastic look. Just then, two servers approached the table at the same time. “Let’s ask them!” said EverybodyLovesAden. He posed the question to the two girls, and seeing them chatting with us, a third server walked up to us as well. I started keeping score.

Two of servers believed you owe the drink-buyer nothing. One said you owe them conversation. I noticed the results were similar to our table, where two of my friends would refuse the drink, and only one would accept and then converse with the buyer. Chatting with a generous stranger was clearly an unpopular choice.

EverybodyLovesAden, always the comedian, chimed in with another theory. “The other thing you could do is take the drink and talk to the guy, but say things to make him really uncomfortable. Like: ‘I just love shitting on a corpse and then fucking it.’”

“AHHHHHH!” we all exclaimed, horrified. Sometimes, I wonder why Everybody Loves Aden.

Much later that night, the three of us arrived at Irving Plaza in Union Square, the site of a new monthly party called 7 Deadly Sins. The night’s theme was Greed. After dancing for a while, I left the boys on the dance floor and wandered up to the balcony. I spotted a very attractive guy, and after looking at him for a minute, I realized I’d met him in January on the gay cruise. He was visiting from Seattle.

I said hello, and he was surprisingly thrilled to see me: gave me a huge hug, all smiles, asking how I’d been. We went to the bar, chatting. I decided to buy him a drink.

As we walked back to the railing over-looking the dance floor with our cocktails, he took out his cell phone. I watched as he began reading and responding to texts. I waited patiently, through one, then a second full song. Finally I interrupted him.

“So, how long are you in town?” I asked.

He didn’t respond for a moment, then replied, “Til tomorrow night.” And resumed texting.

I stood for another long minute, looking at him. Finally, he closed his phone. Then he looked around, picked up his drink, sipped it, put it back down. And then he opened his phone again.

I was shocked. Again I interrupted as his fingers tapped across the tiny keyboard.

“So did you do anything last night? Go out anywhere?”

This time he waited even longer to respond. Finally, just as I was about to repeat the question thinking he didn’t hear me, he looked up from his phone and at me and replied, “No.”

And he went back to texting.

Although I was stunned at his sudden 180 flip to cold behavior, I knew how to take a hint. He was hot, but I don’t waste my time pining after boys who are clearly not interested in me. Even when I do believe they owe me some conversation.

“I have to say hello to someone,” I muttered, and walked away. As I did, I couldn’t help but glance back at his glass. His drink was far from finished.