To The Regiment!

Went out for a drink on Friday night. Met my friend at the pub. Sat down and a waiter took my order (not like a real pub, where you queue at the bar). When he brought my drink to me, he moved his head close to mine in a conspiratorial kind of way and said, softly, so that my friend couldn’t hear, “The man over there is paying for this one.” He nodded his head in the direction of the other side of the bar, about 10 metres away. Embarrassed, I shot a glance in that direction and saw a bloke I didn’t recognise who raised his glass at me. I gave a little wave back.

My friend, who hadn’t heard a thing, asked what was going on. I explained that I’d just been bought a drink by a man I didn’t know. I was a little bit unnerved, actually, mainly because of the waiter’s clandestine manner of telling me who the drink was from. My friend didn’t help matters. “I had a feeling this was turning into a gay bar,” he said.

I wasn’t actually bothered if it was, although my friend seemed amused by the idea. What bothered me more was the fact that if I accepted the drink, I would need to go over and start a conversation with him. I don’t like other people very much. That is, I’m quite shy and stick to who I know rather than going up to strangers and trying to make friends with them.

My plan for the evening had been simple: go out for a quiet drink with my friend. I was annoyed that, from the instant I arrived, this plan had been ambushed and I was now being forced to make a decision: I could accept the drink and ignore the chap who bought it for me (rude); I could accept the drink and go over and chat to him (embarrassing and intimidating); I could tell the waiter that I would pay for my drink myself (rude, embarrassing, but avoids confrontation).

My friend was enjoying this situation immensely. He was running through my options and telling me that this kind of thing had never happened to him. Not for the first time, my friend went through a fairly detailed explanation of what Tom Cruise would do. Apparently, Cruise would have gone over and looked at the guy intensely (which my friend demonstrated by raising one eyebrow) before being very upfront, saying, “Why have you bought me a drink?” I asked whether I should also kick anything over or throw something at a wall as Cruise does in every film he’s ever been in. He advised against it.

In case this Cruise stuff seems a bit random, my friend’s the same age as the diminutive film star, so I think he’s always lived vicariously through him, as it were. The other day I heard him say that he was going to be like Cruise at a meeting he was on his way to.

Back to the story. After finishing his Cruise impression, my friend also advised me to tell the waiter I would pay for the drink myself. This seemed a lot easier, so I had a little word with the waiter, explaining that whilst it was very kind of the chap to offer to buy me a drink, I’d have to respectfully decline. The waiter asked me if I knew him. I explained that I didn’t.

I felt like old Tommy in Early Doors.

A couple of minutes later, the waiter returned to inform me that, actually, I did know the chap. I was informed that I taught his daughter, so perhaps you could accept the drink now, sir?

I cringed and felt like Frank Spencer for a couple of minutes. My friend spent the same amount of time laughing at me. He then told me that I had to go over there now. However much I didn’t want to, I realised that I had no other option. My friend advised me to wander over whilst cleaning my spectacles and to explain that it was dark and dingy in the bar, all the time apologising profusely. In a sudden movie-star U-turn, he advised me to “Be Hugh Grant.”

As I approached the chap’s table, I saw, for the first time, that there were two chaps sitting together. Alarmingly, I didn’t recognise either of them. I decided to hedge my bets: I would look from face to face as I shook each of their hands in turn, showering my thanks and apologies around liberally.

Fortunately, the chap whose daughter I teach identified himself quickly by introducing me to his friend and saying the name of his daughter. It all fell into place then. I’d met him at a couple of parents’ evenings. He was very kind in his comments about me, and didn’t seem to mind the fact that I’d initially refused his drink.

The creeping horror had intensified, though. I realised his wife works at my school too.

She’s a Headteacher.