While tailgating with friends after the Clemson game today, a man dressed in a bright orange football jersey and carrying a green folder mistook me for a woman. My high school buddies Ben, Ben, Laura (Ben's girlfriend), and I were sitting in a folding table beside an SUV in Lot 13 when it happened.
The man was standing at the head of the table. He was visibly drunk. Without saying as much as a hello, he had wandered over to our site and now was proceeding to launch into an expletive-laden tirade. Being the good listeners we are, we decided to humor him.
Perhaps commiseration was what he was looking for -- that was what I was thinking when he began rail on about our field goal kicker's ineptitude (he missed a game-tying 39 yard FG attempt in the waning seconds) and our team's poor defensive effort. Multiple times he slammed his green folder emphatically onto the table.
"Fucking shit! Oh sorry," he said quickly, catching himself. He turned to Ben's girlfriend. "My bad about the language." He turned to me and was about to continue apologizing for his ungentlemanly conduct when, apparently, he noticed that I was not what I had originally seemed to be. "Whoa!" he said. His eyes got big. "I'm sorry about -- damn!" He shook his head. "I thought you were a woman."
The final moment of the story found me standing there open-mouthed and appalled and him proceeding to leave the tailgate as quickly as he could.
Why does this kind of thing always happen when I come back to South Carolina?
A picture of a person who is not James Yeh.