Eventually it becomes my turn.

I said in a recent blog, (Muslim Hypersensitivity), that if you wake up in the morning and set out to find something that you deem offensive, chances are you will find it.  I ran into the Millennial Generation version of that just last night.

My wife and I stopped in at Two22, a local brewery/bar.  We hadn’t been there in quite some time, but they’d recently sent me an email coupon good for a free beer. We stopped in, did the expected “where have you been” stares with the server behind the bar and saddled up by two empty seats.  There was a couple on the right side of the seats, and a female on the left.  Without any surprise I saw that she was flipping threw her phone like some gay French King (exaggerated swiping motions).  I walked up, slid the chair out a little to gain entry, and said my customary ice-breaker line that I’ve used countless times when you invade the empty space they may have been accustomed to seconds before.

“You’re not gonna be a problem, are you?”

It’s a joke.  We’re in a bar.  Sometimes people drink too much in bars.  Then they become overly (anything).  But their response usually gives an indication to their mood and level of intoxication.  I used it just last week and another bar.  They guy, without missing a beat, replied, “Now, or later?”  Very witty.  He got it.  And he wasn’t a problem then or later.

The woman was young, probably in the lower half of her mid-twenties.  She had long, straight brown hair pulled back into a horse tail looking mass.  She was wearing modest clothes, and had on brown framed glasses that dominated what you saw looking at her face.  To pare it down to a single word, I would call her “frumpy”.  Her response was a curt “No”.

We sat down, started sampling small tasters of the beers they’d recently released.  I never gave the girl another thought nor said anything more to her. After a few sips, I noticed she wasn’t there anymore and thought she had left.

Probably 20-30 minutes later, it wasn’t long as I had just finished my first beer; she came up behind us and began asking just what exactly I’d meant by that question (if she was going to be a problem).  I told her it was a joke, that I say it all the time when taking a seat.  She stated that she was offended by it, didn’t see the humor at all in it, and wanted an apology.

I knew I had just run into a Millennial high on the latest popular drug “outrage”.  I looked at her and said, “I’m sorry that you feel that way.”  Clearly not the apology that she was looking for, but also as clear that she wasn’t going to get anything more like one.  I turned my back on her.

Beth kept talking, trying to get the girl to see that she was over reacting to nothing.  Beth mentioned that we are from different generations, to which the girl contradicted saying that we were not.  We’re old enough to be her unfortunate parents, so clearly, we are.  Eventually she stated that “This was an issue.”  I turned back to her and said,

“Yes, and it’s your issue.  Now, move along.”

I looked down the bar and saw the server was talking to another couple at the far end of the bar, by the entry door.  The female of that couple was looking right at me, wide-eyed, and making circular motions by her head with her index finger.  The classic, coo coo for cocoa puffs, bat-shit crazy hand signal.

Frumpy returned to what I learned was her new seat by the other couple and was frantically gesturing in our direction.  The server tried to offer her a free drink coupon but she just patted the bar with her palm and stormed out, no doubt feeling justified in finding something to be outraged about.

Caiti, the server, came down to us.  I asked what was said.  Caiti said that Frumpy had complained about what I said, and also that I had “touched her leg”.  There it is, the #metoo sexual assault ingredient.  Caiti said that she explained to Frumpy that we’d been coming there for 5 years, were both retired military, and meant no offense whatsoever.  That Caiti wasn’t going to do anything like throw us out or anything more severe was why she left.

It was for us, a comical end to an otherwise good evening.  But, just in case.  If you ever happen to read this, Miss Frumpy, you could be so lucky for me to touch your leg either me by myself, or in the company of my wife.  For that matter, the fact that I didn’t touch your leg might be the catalyst for your childish outburst.  It likely isn’t the primary ingredient in your immature psychosis.  That is likely to be “an issue” with your Daddy.  I suggest you seek a counselor in a safe space where you can be reassured in soft cooing voices while you pet a puppy.  Or you could just grow up.  I’m doubting you’ll grow up.

That’s the future of our country, folks.  The offended.  Makes me glad to be almost 60.  I won’t have to watch the utter destruction of our culture and country.