Can I be honest? You look beautiful—better yet, shit-hot. My blood is throbbing like jungle drums. How about I undress you right now and we shag you on that Ms. Pac-Man machine in the corner?
Chances are you will never overhear a conversation remotely like this, but you can bet it’s the subtext of millions of conversations happening in bars, lounges, and nightclubs everywhere. I’ve approached plenty of women, brimming with libido, only to spout something that sounds like:
“Hey, nice shoes.”
“—What, you’re from Jersey?”
“—Yeah, I live Uptown.”
“—Can I buy you a drink?”
And so on and so forth. I have a polite, intellectual—even shy—side, but it’s not what I’m thinking about when I start a conversation.
Aside from peacocking pickup artists who wear wacky, irreverent clothes guaranteed to make women engage them in conversation, men must make the first move. Without some physical attraction there is little impetus to engage a stranger of the opposite sex. There are too many sensory inputs to focus on anything but our most primal instincts. Is there any guy who approaches a woman based on her perceived value as a long-term girlfriend? (I would be fascinated to meet such a person.) We approach because something about a woman attracts or intrigues us.
Let’s face it: few, if any, serious relationships begin in a nightclub, but clubs are places where plenty of casual hookups originate. So what is there to talk about above the din of the latest Ludacris single? Are we talking so we can figure out if it would be a good idea to hook up with this person? We’re just agreeing with one another because we really have no idea what the other person is saying. As guys we normally only mention the conversation to our friends if things start to go south.
“Dude, what happened?”
“Aw, the conversation was really boring so I decided to get out of there.”
“She was hot, man.”
“She was OK, but she wasn’t very interesting.”
I know how many times I’ve said it, but gimme a break.
Truthfully, women and men really do go out for different reasons. From what I’m told (not sure I believe it yet) women really do go out on weekends just to dance and have a good time. If that’s the case, why all the fuss in front of the mirror? Why spend so much time shopping for the right clothes? Oh, you just want all those other girls to know you are better dressed than they are. Suuuure. Ninety percent of the time, if I’ve shaved AND put cologne it’s because I’m hoping to meet a woman who makes my pulse race. The rest of the time, I just want to get stupid drunk with my close friends and act the fool. For some reason I’m more successful with women when I leave the house with no agenda. I still haven’t puzzled that one out.
Granted, initial attraction has led to plenty of disastrous, regrettable hookups. I once went home with a woman whom I met just before last call at a club in the Meatpacking District. We didn’t get to say much to each other over the sonorous crash of salsa music. We kissed just before the lights came up. I introduced her to my friend so I could hear her name again—it wasn’t what I expected.
We walked out of the club into a blizzard. Catching a cab was impossible with four inches of snow rising on the street. Down into the subway we went. First the long wait for the short ride to Times Square. Then it was an hour before the N finally came. All the while we chatted pleasantly.
“You moved here from Hungary three years ago, oh really?”
“You’re a waitress, oh really?”
“You live with your sister, oh really?”
In the morning she woke me and told me she couldn’t remember my name. She knew how bad it must sound. At least she was honest.
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