It's 11pm and you're out dancing with your girlfriends, maybe you're parked on a barstool enjoying the company of new suitors or collectively judging the other patrons as they strut by seeking their own. Hell maybe it's 2am and you just got home, too lazy to wash up, and have just flopped face down on your pillow ready to pass the fuck out. Suddenly you hear a single chime beckoning from your phone, and on text alert auto-mode you mindlessly reach over to check the status only to be bluntly confronted with the dreaded "You out?" Maybe it's just a "What's up" testing the waters. It could be as direct as "Where are you?" or "Come over." Perhaps this is someone you once had a little chemistry with and he's actually creative, sending something clever enough that begs for an engaged response. However you weren't out to fuck tonight. At least you weren't out to fuck Old News. If you were you would have texted him first. No. Chances are this is a man you wrote off months ago due to bad sex or unacceptable behavior. Or it's a deleted number and you don't even know who you're dealing with.
Here is how I handle these situations: Drop a pin to The Owl. Don't say anything, don't engage. Simply show him where he can go if he is so horny that he needs to reach out to a woman in the middle of the night who had already discontinued contact long ago. If he takes this as a sign that you will be there, great. He will show up looking for you. In the meantime he'll buy himself a drink, turn away from the bar, and immediately face a crowd of desperate young women on the last leg of their tours just ready to be picked up. He's all set. You're doing him a favor really. For The Owl is the bar of Last Resort. The lights are low enough to dim the worn out faces of young and old Loganites who had spent all evening and the late night hours searching for another ironically dressed partner to talk to about the last show they saw and their promising record collections, hoping to get an invite back to a shared apartment for more weed and drunken baseline fucking. You show up late so you're drunk enough to not smell the essence of unwashed hair and cigarette breath. If there's a line outside someone in your crowd inevitably knows the guy working the door so there's no need to wait. You're golden. You're good. Go to The Owl and no matter how poorly you're going to get fucked. So you don't owe this latenight texting motherfucker a thing. He'll be just fine. You deserve to get a good night's sleep.
Don't be misled by a perceived disdain for the after hours text. I live a lifestyle of the Fuck Buddy and it's wonderful to have someone that you can count on for a last minute lay. The Owl Pin is to be used for those creepers who resurface well after they have been deleted from your life. They could be ex boyfriends, ex lovers, one night stands who came up short, even a bad date who never made it to your bed but just didn't get the message. We shouldn't have to be pestered by men just because they once got some or came a little close. So make your boundaries clear and by all means let him know he has other options because at The Owl - everyone's an option. Everyone.
** It should be understood that if you are trying to find a good man or a good fuck you need not step through the doors of The Owl. Or Rainbo Club for that matter. If you are not in Chicago do a little research and find your local latenight watering hole for the consistently desperate and unexceptionally average. Avoid at all cost, and drop those motherfucking pins.