Story time!

During uni, I’d just moved house with some friends of mine, a big old party house of 9 people (5 officially lived there, but some had partners, and a couple friends usually crashed on the sofas). My room was the converted garage, so was at the front of the house, which meant I had door duty.

So there was a knock at the door a few days after we moved in. I opened it and there was a girl there, similar age to us, who said “Hi [my name], we saw you guys move in, thought we’d come over when you were settled. We live just down the road.” I have no idea who this girl is, but she knows me by name, so I greet her in a friendly manner, while internally trying to figure out who the fuck she is.

We’re chatting for a bit, from the context of the conversation I discern she knows people I know, but I still don’t recognise her. Then one of my housemates comes down the stairs and greets her by name, let’s say Susie. ‘Good,’ I think, ‘Mike knows her, she’s at least not a crazy catfish.’

After a couple more minutes, she addresses me, looking annoyed. “You don’t remember me, do you?” she says, directly at me. I flubber for a bit, apologise and ask where we met. She says she sees me all the time at The Hole In The Wall, a local pub. “Well you can’t expect me to remember someone I only meet while drunk!”

We’re still standing in the doorway, front door open, when someone else shows up. I recognise him and greet him, “Hi, John!” This sends Susie into a rage. “John’s my boyfriend! You’ve only met him when you see me. And you remember him!” I don’t know how to react and again blame alcohol.

Recounting this story to another housemate later in the day, he just laughs. “You really are gay, aren’t you?” he manages during fits of laughter.