You Want To Go Where?
Location: Neighborhood Draft House
Sometimes, very rarely, all you need is a playing field. It may not be Yankee Stadium or Lambeau Field; it could be a sand and dirt-ridden softball hole on the other side of town, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t people out there to at least play the game. Everyone needs practice. The Neighborhood Draft House is meant to serve as a release; the type of place you can go into and most of the bartenders know your name, and you can sit around and hit on the waitresses unabashedly. My draft house doesn’t get that many good looking women walking through the door, it’s rare. Everyone needs a playing field and everyone needs to practice though.
Targets: Small Group College Girls
This wasn’t your average group of girls we were used to seeing there. All of them were arguably attractive in their own unique way, and they were all made up to go out to a club or dancing somewhere probably. The five of them were sitting with two guys, that were obviously not boyfriends, but were trying to act like they had some sort of chance. Keep swinging guys.
Strategy: Round On Us, Please
At some point or another I found myself singing along to Prince and turned to catch eyes with the cutest blonde and most outgoing of the group, who was also mouthing along to the song about the time it reached “I just want your extra touch…” Time to step up to the plate. The three of my friends (one of which had turned down a hard-earned phone number in an earlier outing) had been gawking for some time already over this small group:
“dude, that one is smoke.”
“Hell yeah, she is.”
Typical shit. Eventually I told them that they should do something about it, knowing they didn’t have the balls or the game for it. They poked each other around a little bit and then went back to talking about them. When the two random guys with this group of girls got up to go to the bathroom (to puke I later found out) I went ahead and took a swing; grabbing our waitress and telling her that if any of them wanted to stay for another round, I’d be happy to buy it for them. (Explanation: I am well aware of the dangers of looking like the sketchy guy at the end of the bar that sends over a drink and gives a pointed-finger wink to the girl. This isn’t a tactic you should use unless you’re confident it won’t be money thrown away. It requires that everyone at the table or in the group not make eye contact until they come over to say “thanks.” For some reason, just buying them a drink, and not doing anything about it nor acting as if you expect something in return, kills women and they end up loving it. If you can give a random girl positive attention that she doesn’t understand, your doing better than walking over with a rose and invitation to a dinner date.) They took the bait looking over from their seats at us, and then whispering around at each other. For once too, my friends played it well, not looking over and acting as if nothing had changed and that the basketball game on the TVs was more interesting. All five of them came over asking if they could sit with us, then cramming themselves into the five person booth with us. So, we were in. The conversation around the table went well, the pukers were explained as old high school friends as they stumbled out the door in defeat, and they eventually invited us to join them at the dance club a few blocks away. We said we would consider it.
Location: Dance Club, “College Night”
College Night is when everyone eighteen and older gets in the door at this particular venue. Dangerous. We let the girls leave, then stayed for another round before making our way over to the club. Once inside, we were surrounded by a sea of young, dumb girls all wearing bright yellow under-21 bracelets. At least they were marked. Our girls were already on the dance floor with their Bud Lights and flagged us over once they saw us. We all drank and danced and I eventually got a phone number off the cute blond. That led to a sketchy make-out in a dark corner near a bar table, then more dancing. Last Call came and we were all ushered outside where the girls explained to us that they were going to a gay bar to keep dancing. Baffled, we resisted the invitation and they informed us that they would call when they were finished dancing. Sure, have fun.
Lesson Learned: Answer the F***ing Phone!
We left the club, got a few hot dogs from the street vendors and made our own respective ways home, comfortable with at least getting a couple of numbers. I watched some Sports Center in my den after putting my phone onto its charger in the bedroom, then passed out on the couch. When I woke up the next morning I found fourteen different ways to kick myself when I saw that the cute blond had called me twice about an hour after I got home. Needless to say, I got booty-called and wasn’t aware enough to answer it. Not good. That’s like coming to the game with all your gear and then walking out onto the field without your glove; chances are, all your going to do is drop the ball…
Good Time Score – 7/10
Phone Number – POSITIVE
Hook-Up – NEGATIVE
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