January 29, 2005

I stopped in at a tavern/restaurant on South Street yesterday, to pick up a take-out order for a friend and me.

While sitting at the bar and waiting for the food, I overheard three young, twenty-something, men engaged in the following conversation:

Young Man (Y.M.) No. 1: My favorite boy name, common boy name, is Vincent. I really like that name.

Y.M. No. 2: I like the name Maximillian.

Y.M. No. 3: Yeah, that's a cool name. You ever know anyone named Maximillian?

Y.M. No. 2: No, but I still like it. You know what guy name I hate? Matthew. Every Matt I've ever known I've hated.

Now, at this point I'm already beyond bewildered. Who talks like this?

These guys have to be gay, I thought.

I glanced over and noticed that all three were smoking cigarettes and in front of Y.M. No. 2 was an open pack of Dunhill Greens.

Oh yeah. Gay.

Wrong. The conversation continued:

Y.M. No. 1: I hate the name Timothy. Timothy. Tim. Automatic dork profile.

Y.M. No. 2: My girlfriend . . . [Blah, blah, blah.]

Y.M. No. 3: Like, totally. This chick . . . [Blah, blah, blah.]

And from there it was just down hill.

But no less entertaining because of it.


Post a Comment