I went out with a gaggle of girls yesterday, to Plaza Ñuñoa for a birthday party. It was one of those two part drinking-and-then-dancing parties, first at a beer hall and then at a discotheque. There turned out to be huge number of people at the beer hall, including some people from the other two branches of the Residencia where I first lived in Santiago. Everyone was toasting one another, singing loud drinking songs, and climbing over the tables for more pitchers. Some of the girls wanted to leave early and go to the club, so I went with them. It was huge, expensive and shiny, with mediocre music. I often daydream about how much better a DJ I would be than whoever is behind the wheels that night. The bar is a lot lower in Chile, so I wonder if I should make a demo tape or something and try to pick up a night gig. Enough of that.
There was a very meat-market atmosphere at the club, and as soon as we got there, I was fending lots of hopeful guys of my gal pals. Not sure why I feel so compelled to this, since it’s difficult and thankless, but there you go. Most of the conversations went something like this.
William Joseph Bolte: “Hey, huevón, how ya doing?”
Hopeful Guy: “Uh, good. Where are you guys from?”
WJB: “Chicago. And you?”
HG: “Buenos Aires” (locations have been changed to protect the innocent)
[pause]
HG: “Pretty girls. Which one is your girlfriend?”
WJB: “None of them. They are all lesbians.”
HG: “I don’t believe you. ”
WJB: “Believe it or not, huevón. You are wasting your time trying to get somewhere with them.”
One guy actually managed to say over and over in English, “I wasn’t born yesterday.” I was pretty impressed, although I don’t know if this is also a saying in Spanish. I wonder if it would be more effective to grin, wink and answer “Why, all three.” instead of going through the lesbain bit. It’s definitely not any more believable, (feel free to disagree with me in the comments) but it might indicate that I am going to take any further attempt more personally.
Near the end of the night, two of the girls started to complain that no one was going to take them home. My mouth was a little agape, because I had been planning how I was going to stiff-arm a path through the crowd of desperate men at the door and hail a taxi. As if to prove how ridiculous a statement this was, a couple of guys walked over and introduced themselves at that very moment. Oh. The girls meant dashing latino princes, exactly the kind they had been complaining that they hadn’t even seen yet. If you haven’t caught on that we aren’t dealing with reality-based individuals here, there’s probably little doubt which camp you are in. So here’s a little bit of advice for my female readers who may find themselves in a similar predicament. Try to pick up a guy yourself. I know, I know, it sounds totally crazy/retarded, but it will actually work. Over the course of an evening, you’ll meet someone who is actually happy not to have to make themselves vulnerable to rejection to meet you. And not making yourself vulnerable is a very attractive thing. If you still think this is just one guy’s wishful thinking, let me tell you that I am not ashamed to admit I read a lot of Seventeen magazines that my friend Ryan and I would take from his sister’s room back in the day, and about once an issue there was a feature on how okay guys were with being approached. They all said it was awesome. You can disagree with me, and you can disagree with Seventeen magazine, but when we both agree, that’s advice you can take to the bank.
Thanks for the link for “reality-based.” C Perdue told me on the phone what Fanboy and Groupthink mean. And he concluded he didn’t know what “Fanboy Groupthink” means.
Kevin loaned me a CD by “The Specials.” NY reggae, he said. I like it.
Yo Madre