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Blog #22: How to wing-woman for a guy who’s trying to get phone numbers (Me & Payton go out, pt 2)

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by in Sex & Dating
June 12, 2018 0 comments

(Part 1 of the night is here)

Rejections #2, #3, #4: How to avoid getting beaten up by someone’s dad

Over the course of the next hour, Payton successfully gets rejected in the following ways:

#2. We meet two women at a bar with a man. In a stroke of social genius, Payton strikes up a conversation with the man first. He discovers through this conversation that the two women at the man’s elbow are the man’s daughters. Good save, Payton.

#3. We walk into a bar where there is only 1 woman who isn’t with a man or a girlfriend. She is staring at her phone. Obviously she is going to be the practice rejection. But, Payton cannot, like, cannot, get her attention. He sits next to her. He pretends to stare at a paper menu. He looks around. He squints at the menu posted above the bar, identical to the paper menu. He returns back to where I’m watching.

“I was going to ask her about the menu and if she’d recommend anything, but the menu was there so it was dumb.”

“It’s okay if lines are dumb!” I protest. The point is that you say something. Also, we’re going for “rejection,” not “marriage proposal acceptance.”

#4. It’s getting late and I’m starting to notice for the first time how the people who are alone are all men. Is it because it’s late? Is it we live in a sexist society that is okay with violence towards women, so women are afraid of being out alone?

We walk into a bar where the DJ is spinning oldies. There are a handful of white people in there dressed in their finest 1960’s replica-vintage clothes: swing dresses, hats, and suspenders. They are obviously there all together. Two girls off to the side are dressed like normal people. Payton is an excellent dancer so we take a break and start dancing. He’s in his own world, doing fancy footwork and not making eye contact with anyone. Two songs. Three songs. Five songs. I’m getting tired. Payton’s doing this groovy top rock now. Finally, I grab Payton’s arm and drag him off the dance floor.

“Are you going to go for it or are we just dancing?” Payton sighs. He’s been trying, he explains. I stare at him. Trying? Apparently he was moving closer to one of the girls but her friends kept cock-blocking.

Ohhhh…. Got it.

At that moment, a woman breaks free and heads to the bar.

Now is the time. Payton hesitates. He circles the bar at a distance. I watch him like I’m watching a slow Olympic race. Go, Payton, go! Faster! The woman taps her card on the bar. Payton is ten feet away. The woman talks to the bartender. The bartender starts mixing the drink. Payton is nine feet away. Faster, faster! The woman is paying for her drink. Oh my god. Who is going to leave the bar first? Payton or the woman? The woman wins: she is walking away from the bar. Payton intercepts her just as I think it’s over.

“I saw you having fun on the dance floor. Would you like to dance?” he says. Over her shoulder, she tells him she’s DJ’ing so she can’t.

Payton shuffles back to me and shrugs, nodding. Rejection #4. Check!

Final Rejection over $6 cups of hot chocolate

Our final stop of the night is a chocolatier in the Mission District of San Francisco that is famous for its hot cocoa. Which by the way is $6 per cup. This place is normally packed during the days, but nearly empty on a Friday night.

There are two women behind the counter and one dude. Despite the fact everyone can see me, I stuff my face with tiny samples of chocolate from th bowls. Then, I spot the homemade marshmallows. They are supposed to be dunked into the $6 cups of hot cocoa. “Technically,” they are “free.”

I have no shame.

“Are these marshmallows for sale?” I ask the cashier. I know they aren’t.

“No, and we have to throw them away in an hour when we close,” the woman behind the counter explains. She’s young and Latina, with long curly brown hair. “You should eat them,” she encourages me. “We’re going to trash them anyway.”

“Oh really?” I act thrilled. No. I am thrilled. There is a huge glass jar of pure spun sugar and I hve been commanded to eat as many as I can. I am beyond thrilled. I stuff a bunch of marshmallows into a napkin. Payton and I sit down at a table. We nod in understanding. He furrows his brow in thought. No! “Just make it another rejection,” I whisper urgently.

Payton stands back up and approaches the girl. He waves his fingers.

“These marshmallows are making my fingers sticky,” he begins. I face-palm Mental Note: Carefully consider your use of the words “fingers” and “sticky” in your approach. Even if your goal is to get rejected. Not unless you are going for creep-status. The cashier points to a stack of napkins and keeps cleaning the counter.

Payton grabs a napkin and heads back.

“What was that?” I ask.

“I was going to say thanks for the marshmallows. Then I was going to ask about sticky fingers. Then I was thinking we could end up talking about that–”

I squint at him like he’s an alien. I’m not even sure if this is a rejection because he hasn’t gotten around to asking anything crazy that anyone would reject.

He’s trying, but it’s not exactly putting himself out there.

It’s okay–maybe this is not his thing.

We are learning.

The cashier urges us to take more marshmallows because she’s seconds away from trashing them. She is so adamant that she grabs a paper cup and tells me to put them inside. I shamelessly stuff as many as I can inside. I even push them down to fit more. Then she gives me a lid.

Final score card:

Rejections: 3 for sure and 2 more pseudo-attempts.

Money spent: $0

Food consumed: 4 pints of beer, a ton of marshmallows

The most important thing? On our way out, Payton decides he’s really going to try to approach women on his own. “Now that I’ve done it…. I have a better sense of how it works now.”

Awesome.

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Each post is a great fucking adventure

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