“Are you single?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Dude, are you single or what?”
“Uh, yeah. What’s going on?” I say.
A bunch of us are at a Shockoe club on Saturday night. I have had two, maybe four beers. I know I am over the legal limit at this exact moment, because the legal limit is defined as “the blood alcohol content at which people who can’t dance decide it’s a great idea to dance at a club.” It’s true: I am dancing with a group of my friends. Sometimes I would dance in close proximity to certain ones, who are pretty much girls, but in a friendly sort of way. I wouldn’t call it “a thing.” But, uh, that is definitely happening. But that isn’t the point of the story.
Honestly: this isn’t really “my scene”, but I am having fun.
Eventually the casual-acquaintance-class friend who is asking me the questions manages to extract that I’m single. “Listen, man, you and me are going to go talk to these two girls over at the bar. Come on, let’s go.”
But see, here’s the problem. This guy doesn’t need help or moral support talking to girls. Girls seem to like him quite enough on his own. I think I saw one of the girls he danced with earlier actually, like, melt. As in physically she became a puddle, Wicked Witch-style, I guess due to something about him.
Now, I don’t discriminate when it comes to “being a wingman”, because I definitely am willing to say awkward things to any girl at any time, especially to help out my friends, and I even think I’m getting less self-conscious about it in the last couple of weeks, but: seriously. It was kind of a mismatch. Imagine Justin Long (I’m a Mac!) and John Hodgeman (I’m a PC!) going to talk to two girls at a bar, and you’ll have it about right, except maybe replace Justin Long with Justin Timberlake.
So this is really more like good times than moral support. But hell, I’m game. Which girls are we talking to? Oh no: they’re stunning. Somewhere back in my mind I’m thinking about how this really isn’t my scene. But I decide to just let Mr. SexyBack pick a girl he likes, and then to go look the other one right in the eyes, say hi, ask an interesting question, ask a cute and funny followup question, she would laugh, I would laugh in a friendly, with-her sort of way, and then before long I’d have led things into a little conversation. Seriously, this is easy stuff. I mean, I’m not intimidated. Ha. As if.
Instead, I walk over to the girl my friend chooses to ignore, look her directly in her drink, and mutter a thing that led to no conversation at all:
“Hi, I’m Justin! My job is to distract you while my friend talks to your friend.”