So the mayor of a decently sized city stared at my ass Saturday night. I’ll tell the story with as few identifying details as humanly possible; for instance, we’ll only refer to this city as “Eattle-Say”. The mayor in question’s name is M. McGinn… wait a second, that’s far too identifying. Instead we’ll call him Mike M.
Mike M. was having an inauguration party at a club SOuth of DOwnton; a veritable Showbox of entertainment. All the music was local and it ranged from hiphop to a 70’s funk band named after a mascot of a sports team from the anonymous city. All the tunes were good and they were serving beer for $3.00 (nevermind that it was some skunk, organic beer, when was the last time you paid less than 7.25 for a beer at a club? Even cans of PBR were $4.00. Effing hipsters, driving up prices).
The Mayor introduced each band as they came on stage. He was personable, friendly, damn near charming in his ebullience. He was wearing a sports coat and slacks; odd for someone who bikes everywhere. The third band on was the aforementioned Funk group. Naturally I got down on the dance floor and got funky… 4 beers funky… plus there was a woman present. I was a fiery phoenix showing off my plumage. Or peacock. Or whatever bird sounds cool and shows off plumage. A peonix? A Phocock? Whatever. I was dancing.
I happened to be looking around mid-gyration and noticed that the mayor was standing directly behind me (I think you can see where this is going). I got a little starstruck. I mean, he is a really progressive Mayor of the city I happen to live/love in. Politically this was like meeting the Backstreet Boys. You know, before they were a “thing” and still had street cred.
After the song was over, I steeled my nerve, girded my loins and stiffened my spine. Then I went up and shook the mayors hand.
“Great party you’re having. Congratulations on winning!” I gushed, pumping his hand twice in the manliest handshake I could muster given the squealing noises I was making on the inside.
“Oh. Thanks.” He responded.
And then he ran. Perhaps “walked-with-swift-determination-verging-on-panic” is a better word, but it sure looked like he ran away. He quickly navigated the distance between where we had been to the roped off area that denoted back-stage. I looked at my companion in a fashion that can only be described as bewildered.
“What was that all about?” I asked them. “The mayor just ran away from me after shaking my hand.”
“Oh… that guy was staring at your ass for the last few songs.” My companion replied.
All was made clear.