[Ed. Note: I told you I wasn't sure if my traveling would affect my blogging...as it turns out, it does. Damnit. My sincerest apologies, Celibateers, everything will be back to normal on Friday.]
On Sunday, I was sitting at the Tampa International Airport, minding my own business, and reading a book. A guy who would rank as about a “6” sat across from me and seemed to be checking me out every time I looked up. After this happened twice without him saying anything, I was ready to write him off as a total creep, but then he spoke.
“Excuse me,” he said, “are you reading a copy of The Game?”
“Yes, I am,” I replied.
He came back with, “that’s so cool.”
Okay, I figured, I’m stuck in an airport and I’m bored, so I’ll play along.
“Why is that cool?” I asked.
“Because it’s good for you girls to know what kinds of douchebags you’re dealing with,” he said matter-of-factly. That made me laugh.
And with that, he ingratiated himself, so I allowed him to continue distracting me for a while. After all, to pick up a girl by using the book “The Game,” but without employing the tactics it espouses, was downright metaphysical. Moreover, 6 or otherwise, I’ve met some very interesting people at airports, so perhaps I could add him to that collection.
We chatted for a few minutes about some of the things that take place in the book; the routines, the celebrity cameos, and all the other stuff I’ll get to with my final Book Club post. Then we were cut off by an announcement that all planes were temporarily delayed due to a sudden downpour that I hadn’t noticed was taking place while we were talking.
“Oh well,” I said, “do you think they have a bar around here?” My tone was half-joking but I had the full intention of finding one whether or not he was down with a 10am cocktail. Fortunately, he was on board. He led me to a nearby spot and asked what I’d like. I told him a Kettle and Cranberry and he ordered me a double. So far, so good.
“So why are you reading that anyways?” he asked, as I squeezed lime after lime into my drink. Then I licked the juices off my fingers. In another lifetime, that would have been a come-on. Now it was just a practical way of avoiding stickiness.
“Well,” I said, instantly deciding that I didn’t feel like delving into The Celibacy Project, “I’m trying to understand how it works, and in doing so, I’ve realized that it’s worked on me before. Basically, like you said, I’m learning to protect myself from the douchebaggery I’ve succumbed to in the past.”
“I bet you get hit on a lot,” he said.
“Yeah, but they’re not all nice enough to buy me a drink, and a double at that.”
“Is there a book like this for girls?” he asked.
“Well, sort of, but it’s got a much different goal. It’s called ‘The Rules,’ and it’s about finding a husband, whereas ‘The Game’ seems to be about finding a moist opening.”
He laughed. “Well, I guess it’s true what they say…women use sex to get love and men use love to get sex.”
I thought about that and ended up nodding my head in agreement. "I think that sums it up rather nicely," I said.
In that moment, he upgraded to a 7. We finished our drinks, exchanged numbers, and went our seperate ways. So what did I learn from this little exchange? Three things, actually:
1. A confident and knowledgeable 6 is actually a 7.
2. It’s possible to engage in conversation with just a hint of sexual undertones that doesn’t have to go anywhere to be enjoyable.
3. A double Kettle and Cranberry makes flying (and life in general) a lot more fun.