[Kevin (one of my SF roommates) says I should have sympathy for the man in the story below because it's hard to start up conversations with female strangers, so I almost didn't post it. But then desire to write overcame sympathy!]
Sunday night I'm at Harry's Bar waiting for Cecilia and her boyfriend. They're lost driving up to Pacific Heights, so I sit on a stool and watch the bar's plasma TV playing "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" on mute.
A Caucasian man, around 30 years old, 5'10" with short wavy brown hair, comes up next to me.
Guy: I'm going to put my drink here next to your water, okay? [Editor's Note: This line isn't the bad one -- it doesn't go bad until a couple minutes in.]
Guy: Hey, so where are you from?
Me: Originally? China.
Guy: Where in China?
Guy: But you don't have an accent. You must have been very young when you came to the States.
Me: Yes, I was 5.
Guy: So you're basically American then. You're an AMERICAN GIRL. You're not really Chinese. You can't call yourself Chinese.
Guy: You can't! You're not Chinese! You can't call yourself Chinese! [keeps going in this vein]
Me: [slightly annoyed, starts looking away from him]
Guy: Okay, okay. So where did you go to high school? Did you go to high school?
Me: [in disbelief] Did I go to high school? What kind of question is that??? By U.S. law, everyone under the age of 16 is required to go to school!!
Guy: Oh. Hey, what the hell would I know about US law?
Me: I guess you can't call yourself an American then.
Just then Cecilia came in and saved me.