I was standing in one of the house/jungle/trance rooms at 1015 in San Francisco, trying to ignore a guy who looked like he couldn't be older than 17. With his fitted camo Giants cap and XL clothes hanging off of his 110 lb. frame, I couldn't take him seriously enough to full-on reject him from my little group. So I humored him and let him hang around.
"Buy my ladies some drinks!" yelled my girlfriend Desiree, gesturing at me. I shook my head rapidly and made big X movements with my arms, but he was already sidling up to yell in my ear over the music.
"Do you wanna pop?" he asked, a ridiculous half-leering expression on his baby face. I had no idea what he was talking about.
"Umm....I don't know what that is," I admitted, feeling incredibly old.
"Ex," he insisted. as I gave him another clueless look. "Ecstasy. PILLS!" he shouted, exasperated with my utter lack of Urban Dictionary knowledge.
My eyes widened and I took a step back, having not been offered Ecstasy since high school. I tried to hide my embarrassment by bluffing that I'd tried it before and didn't like it, but I'm a really nervous, bad liar. He laughed and asked if I'd rather have a Corona.
I nodded and hoped my pride would eventually recover from the culture shock.
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