I once had a friend, Jack, who I dreaded going out with.
Jack chose his “friends” primarily based on looks, so we’d inevitably end up in a large group of guys who were as bored with themselves as they were with each other.
One day we ended up at a large table at Lush with about 10 of his “friends.” The “workout routine conversation” was exhausted the night before and we weren’t allowed to talk about school or work because half of the table was under-employed.
So the group was dead silent as everyone browsed the Grindr profiles of the guys next to them.
It was sad, and awkward.
I excused myself to the restroom, where I ran into my friend Jill.
Jill: “You’re at quite the A-list table today. They are all so pretty!”
Me: “Being on the A-list is pretty fucking miserable then.”