I’m standing at the bar, nursing a Coke Light and having a laugh at my girlfriends downing tequila shots like they’re born-and-bred Mexicans.
An attractive (albeit drunken) man sidles up next to me, shoves his face into mine and starts singing the words to whatever Rihanna song is blasting through the speakers.
I don’t know the words.
So, okay. What am I supposed to do now?
I give it an another twenty seconds and when it’s pretty clear that this pseudo-serenade is the best he’s got, I hand him my drink and escape to the bathroom.
IMPLOSION BY AWKWARD.
I got hit on a few times last night. There was one guy who kept appearing at my elbow on the dance floor and just kind of stood there and stared at me. There was another guy who kept smiling at me then tried to, I don’t know, wave me over?
I spent quite a bit of time in the bathroom.
Hey men, what happened to the good old pick up line? Hells, even a simple hello would have sufficed.
I don’t like drunken hookups in a dark club with a stranger. Mainly because, I’m never drunk.
I’ve done it once, in Spain, but even that was after a good four hours of conversation and laughing and showing the Spaniards how to langarm. And it was the first Saffa accent I’d heard in three weeks (with the exception of my travel buddies).
I am Queen Awkward. I don’t know what to do with myself when someone smiles at me across the room. Are they even smiling at me? And what’s with this waving me over? Nuh uh, buddy.
A bad pick up line is better than no pick up line. At least we’d have a good laugh, maybe you’d ask me my name and buy me a drink. I like a man with confidence and I love a man with good manners.
Just a little conversation, that’s all I ask.
It was good for my ego though, my self-esteem can use all the serenading it can get.
[EDIT: Disclaimer: I applaud the bravery it takes to flirt with a stranger in a club. To smile at a girl and hope she smiles back. But when she does smile back, that’s your cue to go over and say hi.
Me? I’m so worried about what a guy’s intentions might be, I’d rather hide in the bathroom. I want a conversation, I’m not going to make out with you on the dance floor when I don’t know your name.
God, I’m lame. I blame a series of bad break-ups and that first year spread I’ve never managed to shake.]