Before I recount the rest of the weekend (and I apologize to our loyal readers for the delay; when you wait until 5-drinks-in on a Saturday night to make your move, writing is the furthest thing from your mind at the end), I got off to an early start today.
This is too easy.
Smooth and I are facing a steep learning curve, but we’re finding there are simple short-cuts to making an entry with a(n attractive female) stranger. Today I discovered one of them, quite by accident.
Scene: riding the T (trolley, green line) to work. Approx. 8:30 am. No one is happy. At least most people are clean and odor-free. I’m standing in the handicapped alcove (laugh it up, I’m a gentleman and always stand), leaning against the window. At Stop X, “High Maintenance Bosom” (HMB) gets on. HMB looks exactly as her nick-name suggests: very well-put-together—possessing certain flattering physical attributes—but wearing the mark of maintenance: more brand names than a guy can count (quick aside: I prefer well-dressed women without the ostentation). No matter, she’d achieved her desired effect: my eyes wandered.
At first, HMB stood opposite me, back-facing, and I did my best not to stare … wondering if a cute musician a few feet off would tell me what instrument she was carrying. Eventually, HMB sat in the seat at my elbow. “Well, no chance talking to her” I thought. Wrong.
Five minutes later, the T jerked to a hard stop and my elbow brushed HMB’s perfectly-coiffed hair (::imitates Marlon Brando “…the horror…the horror…”::). She quickly reached back to put two mussed hairs in place and gave me a look that said “these nails may look good now, but do that again, and you’ll curse the last time you thanked God for your manhood”.
I couldn’t let her glare phase me. I had my “in”.
We both got off at Park. As she crossed onto Winter, I made my move.
Me: “Hey (loud enough to hear with her ear-buds on), I’m sorry I elbowed you on the train.”
Her: “Don’t worry about it; I didn’t even notice” (she’s pulled one ear-bud out and makes a motion to put it back on, so I try again)
Me: “Do you work around here?”
Her: “Yeah, I work on X Street. I would usually switch lines, but it’s such a nice day, I decided to walk.”
The conversation lasted to my office, a solid 5 minutes. By the end, we were talking her last spring break (she went to school in Florida) and the bars closest to her office. We’d exchanged job info. She does analysis for a venture firm, and I—because of my work—know a little something about venture and private equity, was surprised. No doubt she was bright and articulate, but my impression of her was that she was not an intellectual: fine for a fun night out, but not regular dating potential. But I like to be proved wrong.
We parted outside my office:
Me: “So, can I get you name and your number, and you can invite me to one of your office happy hours?”
Her: “My name is Emma … actually, I have a boyfriend.”
Me: “That’s too bad. (remembering my manners) Too bad for me, that is … it’s great for him.”
Her (smiling): “Well, have a good day.”
Me: “See you around.”
This is too easy.
Smooth and I are facing a steep learning curve, but we’re finding there are simple short-cuts to making an entry with a(n attractive female) stranger. Today I discovered one of them, quite by accident.
Scene: riding the T (trolley, green line) to work. Approx. 8:30 am. No one is happy. At least most people are clean and odor-free. I’m standing in the handicapped alcove (laugh it up, I’m a gentleman and always stand), leaning against the window. At Stop X, “High Maintenance Bosom” (HMB) gets on. HMB looks exactly as her nick-name suggests: very well-put-together—possessing certain flattering physical attributes—but wearing the mark of maintenance: more brand names than a guy can count (quick aside: I prefer well-dressed women without the ostentation). No matter, she’d achieved her desired effect: my eyes wandered.
At first, HMB stood opposite me, back-facing, and I did my best not to stare … wondering if a cute musician a few feet off would tell me what instrument she was carrying. Eventually, HMB sat in the seat at my elbow. “Well, no chance talking to her” I thought. Wrong.
Five minutes later, the T jerked to a hard stop and my elbow brushed HMB’s perfectly-coiffed hair (::imitates Marlon Brando “…the horror…the horror…”::). She quickly reached back to put two mussed hairs in place and gave me a look that said “these nails may look good now, but do that again, and you’ll curse the last time you thanked God for your manhood”.
I couldn’t let her glare phase me. I had my “in”.
We both got off at Park. As she crossed onto Winter, I made my move.
Me: “Hey (loud enough to hear with her ear-buds on), I’m sorry I elbowed you on the train.”
Her: “Don’t worry about it; I didn’t even notice” (she’s pulled one ear-bud out and makes a motion to put it back on, so I try again)
Me: “Do you work around here?”
Her: “Yeah, I work on X Street. I would usually switch lines, but it’s such a nice day, I decided to walk.”
The conversation lasted to my office, a solid 5 minutes. By the end, we were talking her last spring break (she went to school in Florida) and the bars closest to her office. We’d exchanged job info. She does analysis for a venture firm, and I—because of my work—know a little something about venture and private equity, was surprised. No doubt she was bright and articulate, but my impression of her was that she was not an intellectual: fine for a fun night out, but not regular dating potential. But I like to be proved wrong.
We parted outside my office:
Me: “So, can I get you name and your number, and you can invite me to one of your office happy hours?”
Her: “My name is Emma … actually, I have a boyfriend.”
Me: “That’s too bad. (remembering my manners) Too bad for me, that is … it’s great for him.”
Her (smiling): “Well, have a good day.”
Me: “See you around.”
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