Originally appeared on my Substack page, The Bung & Gargle
It’s brutal, trying to meet women in this town. I mean, it’s always been bad, but now? Sheesh. It used to be, you had to be good looking, with a great job and a big salary and prospects for more. Your own apartment in a cool part of town. Friends who could get you into clubs and parties. That was the baseline, that was minimum.
Now, you have to be completely on your best behavior at all times. No flirting, no off-color comments, no suggestive bottle fellating, nothing.
That’s why, when I go out, I always take along the 16th president of the United States.
Not the currency, dumbass. (As if five bucks would get you far anyway.)
Long tall Abe himself. The best wingman around.
Why? For one thing, Abe attracts attention. That stovepipe hat always gets comments, and even if they are nasty ones, he can turn things around in that self-deprecating way he’s got and have everyone laughing in no time. It’s uncanny. I mean, some women get positively freaky about the hat, right? Could it be Freudian? It wouldn’t work for you or me, but Abe owns it. They go bananas for his self-confidence and his urge to seem even taller.
And y’know how the biggest guy at the bar always attracts a fight from some dick trying to impress? Some punk will try and provoke Abe, and he’ll just chuckle and say, “Those who look for the bad in people will surely find it.” Before you know it, it’s all singalong “Lean on Me” time and shots all around, and I get points because he’s with me.Subscribed
But why is he a good wingman? Because no matter how much women bat their eyes at him, he never seals the deal. He’s just not going to take one home, right? No matter how many jokes about the big hands and feet, he’s always a gentleman. ‘Cuz he’s a Midwesterner, Illinois or something. You might think he’s slow, but it’s just a cultural thing. Then as he ponders the situation, I can come in and….
Not to get disgusting. I can be a gentleman, too, if I work at it. But you know. After a few drinks, it’s better to have a gentleman with you, is how I look at it.
Abe’s friendly, unpretentious, kind of a romantic brooder. They ask him what he’s so worried about. “Oh, the parlous state of our union,” he’ll sigh. Deep, right? But it also doesn’t allow for much follow-up, so you can just nod along and pretend to be in the conversation. And the women all get drunker, and when it’s closing time, who are they going to go for? A 55-year-old warty depressive with Marfan syndrome in a scratchy wool suit, or yours truly, who wrestled two years in high school? I mean, when he moans about his unstable wife, it gets their sympathy flowing, but soon it’s like a dude bitching about his ex, and they get tired of it, and I pop up talking about “This is Us” and the sitch takes its natural course FTW.
Look, I feel for the guy. He’s seen a lot. Sometimes he gets bit by what he calls the “black dog”, in which case I buy him a Margarita and tell him the fruit juice will help. I also call him “railsplitter”, cuz it cheers him up to remember simpler times. He’s a country guy, but, like, the real thing, right? No pre-stressed trucker hat or anything.
And he comes up with all those great quotes that just leave people’s jaws on the floor. Even I get impressed. “I hold that while man exists, it is his duty to improve not only his own condition, but to assist in ameliorating mankind.” I mean, in a crowded bar, you can’t even tell what he’s saying, but you know it’s something deep. Gravitas, man. And your phone gets a workout looking up things like “ameliorating.”
And then he’ll turn around and say something corny like, “A woman is the only thing I am afraid of that I know will not hurt me” or “If I were two-faced, would I be wearing this one?” Only from him, it’s not corny, it’s sincere. Yasss!
But sometimes, on a quiet night at the bar, Abe’ll look at me and wonder why we stick together. “My great concern is not whether you have failed,” he’ll tell me, “but whether you are content with your failure.”
“Don’t get all judgey on me, bruh,” I’ll say. “Live fast, die young, leave a beautiful corpse.”
Then Abe’ll get all quiet, like he’s had a premonition. He’ll look at the ground, rub his chin a little, and finally say, “That’s ‘President Bruh’ to you, douche.”