There Was Nothing

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You walk into a bar and spot your crush. She spots you back and waves and squeals your name. Anyone else who notices, they smile—a few even go so far as to turn and smile—but they keep their waves and squeals to themselves. Not that you’re undeserving of waves and squeals, but, don’t fool yourself, you’re a bit player in a large cast of characters. She saw you first because her booth seat faced the door. You didn’t think she’d be at this bar. You figured she’d be at the other bar, the louder bar, in the neighborhood. It’s younger, hipper, trendier. You feel relief and frustration. Let’s unpack that: You feel relief because, here, you can keep an eye on her. And, perhaps, when the time comes, she’ll ask you, in some roundabout way, for a lift home. And then, who knows, maybe she’ll even invite you in. You feel frustration because, here, you can watch her flirt with all the boys and girls who are much cuter than you are. But, dude, you gotta quit kidding yourself. Let’s be realistic. She’s what, like a “9 ½.” Right? She’s not a “10” — not in your book, she’s not. Why? Well, for starters, she smokes and she drinks and she’s messy and she frequents noisy bars. And you, mon ami? You clean up to a “4 ½.” So what do you do? You don’t go sit at her table. Was there room? Or was it a “neg”? Or was it that you didn’t want to tip your hand? You fear coming across as “creepy.” (Probably too late.) You wind up at a nearby table where other mutuals are gathered. You spend the next hour trading glances with her. (Totally creepy, dude.) When the time comes to get going, she gives you a brief, but hard, hug. And before moving on to the next one to hug, she says, “Good show.” And you’ll keep asking yourself, for the rest of your life, if you bollixed your one shot. It’s ok, though. Just keep reminding yourself that there was nothing to bollix in the first place. 

26 November 2005

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