The human embodiment of the Exxon Valdez oil spill

For the launch of patio season, many bars and restaurants host small parties to celebrate the fact that many people - especially those who don't live in cities with long summers - have been hibernating for the past 6-8 months and are excited to get some sun with a side of rum and coke.

After my friend J and I enjoy a few too many cocktails on the patio, we walk towards the exit and run into J's Russian friend.  She's standing with an older man, dressed like a captain of a yacht (navy blazer, white dress shirt, opened midway down his torso) only without the jaunty cap and a lot more gold chains and grease in his hair.

As the Russian turns her attention away from the grease captain and towards me, he leans toward her, his face inches from mine, and says to her, "You can do better."

Ballsy, yet incredibly rude.

"Well, I just heard that," I say loud enough for our group to hear.

"Yes, that was rude," says the Russian.

With that comment still lingering in the hot summer air, the three of us (J, the Russian and myself) turn around and walk away from the human embodiment of the Exxon Valdez oil spill.  We talk for a few minutes before I head out.  When you're drinking for over two hours and don't have a thing to eat, your body reminds you it's time to call it quits.

Before I head off, I lean into the Russian and say, "By the way, you look amazing in that dress."

"Oh, thank you." She's flattered.  That's something that greaseball wasn't able to do.  It doesn't matter, though.  As I walk out, I notice he quickly found another group of hot women to hit on.