“Check out that guy right there… he’s hot and sitting by himself.  I’ve got just the line for him.”

 

I spun my head back to see whom Perry was referring to as I shoved the coat-check ticket into my pants pocket leaving a buck in the tip jar for one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence who had cheerfully and flirtatiously offered to hang up my coat.  It was a Saturday night at the Cuff where the time was approaching the literal “stroke of midnight” so to speak – the hour to rally, to execute on the back-of-your-mind intention of why many a single gay man would be out on a weekend evening just before last call.

 

To make a ‘love connection’ as Perry calls it.

 

To be clear, he’s not looking for a boyfriend, he’s looking to hook-up tonight.

 

I note the typical soda gun and fried chicken smell I distinctly recognize whenever I step in the bar as he mumbles to himself in a low voice as if rehearsing his opener,

 

“Are you from Memphis?  … Because you’re the only Ten I see.”

 

Oh geez.  Really Perry?

 

I reach deep in my memory for a phrase equally as banal, but with the intent of bringing Perry back to reality from his momentary lapse of judgment, arising from both a combination of the beer goggles he’s likely put on in the last hour in addition to an overall social awkwardness developed by someone who spends way too much time watching whatever is on Spike TV.  Postulating on his inclination toward Geekdom, I come up with a nostalgic reference from Star Wars – something I’m trusting he’ll get as I’m speaking his language.

 

“More like… May the Fours be with you!” I snarkily jest.

 

“Hey, he’s like a Seattle 6.”

 

“Barely.  Ok, fine then – a New York 4. I’ll give you a +2 differential ability score for charisma points (CHA) but no more no less.  You’re on a thin line between ‘Fuckable, Without Regret’ and ‘Why’d I do that last night!’”

 

“C’mon, beauty is in the eye of the beholder!”

 

With a puzzled look in his face and upward inflection in his voice as if to verify his own statement was true, Perry stared at me waiting for an answer to what was soon becoming quite an evening’s quandary for him.

 

“I wholeheartedly agree with you that beauty is in the eye of the beholder – and since we left my place at the start of the evening I beheld half a dozen other guys whom you’ve pointed or whispered to me about as they’ve walked past us saying they were yourtype or could be your future ex-husband.  This guy right here… not even on par with the others you’ve shown me before.  Why do you always go for these 4s when I see you Liking 8s, 9s, and 10s!  You’re a good-looking, all-around great guy.  Just sayin’.”

 

Perry blurts, “Wow! Hash tag just sayin?”

 

#justsayin’

 

It’s going to be one of those nights I guess.

 

I fire back, “You did not just hash tag me!  And if we truly are hash tagging our conversation now, we should change that hash tag to I-M-H-O and hash tag real talk!”

 

#IMHO

#realtalk

“Now stop being such a Quagmire and giggity get your game up, alright?  And that doesn’t include using a line like the one you planned on just now.  Tell you what, maybe we can do a fruit loop first before we settle down with our drinks.”

 

I sensed a bit of opposition from Perry who was making his case for how Foursie may get occupied by some other dude while we’re away or he may leave by the time we get back.

 

Fine.

 

My plea to my buddy is that we make this discourse with our fellow bar patron a very quick in-and-out, knowing instead that I should really be pleading on prayerful knees to St. Jude, Patron Saint of Lost Causes.

 

Next, Perry is plotting to orchestrate the Approach and he lays out the game plan for me:

 

• I’m supposed to chat with this guy first checking to see if he’s not a weirdo because I’ve “got a friendly, approachable demeanor” (according to my bud).

 

• Then Perry will walk over with drinks in tow (as an act of subterfuge) where I will introduce him, causing a break in dialogue and switching of topics (if necessary).

 

• If, for some reason, I’ve walked away from the guy within the couple minutes it takes for Perry to get us drinks, then Perry will know not to approach the guy and that something was fishier than Lindsay Lohan’s hoo ha.  Maybe the guy would be too drunk, unfriendly or very one-worded in his responses…. In other words, GET THE ‘EF OUT!

 

Perry confirms I’m on the same page with him, though my tone is begrudgingly heavy.

 

“C’mon!  I need a reason to enter the conversation and can use a drink to loosen me up first.  Besides, you’re good at this!”

 

Making introductions between people.  A recruiter’s work is never done.

 

While I’m not impressed with what I see ‘on paper’ for this candidate, I’m going to humor Perry for the sake of argument.  I tell him that I’m fairly sure that Foursie will be into both of us, so technically because I’m there first he’d be cockblocking me.  But, because I’m his wingman tonight, I’m here to unblock his cock.

 

I also remind him that he is already two drinks in, not needing any more loosening up.  But if he must, Fireball is faster and I’ll just have a Diet Coke with lime.

 

I’m not sure if Perry was leaning low to hear me better, but right then I decide to ask him how tall he is.

 

It was just the stimulus he needed to get him to stand up straight, fully erect – my objective.

 

He seems so much more commanding in this stance.  Ruggedly strong features were still apparent behind the growing sandy brown beard and wildly long hair he wore, which could have made one confuse him for a member of any number of Seattle-based indie bands.  This is especially true with the blue and red lumberjack plaid he wore around his barrel chest.

 

“I’m 6’2”.”

 

I couldn’t even tell he was 6’0” tall.  He was always slouching and his hands were typically in his pockets.

 

“I’ve always seen you as taller than me, but not someone in the six foot or greater category.”

 

“It’s because I’m a friendly giant.”

 

“Well, friendly giant, chest up and get those hands out of your pockets.  We want to communicate confidence here.  Confidence is sexy!”

 

“Heh.  Oh yeah.”

 

Perry repositions himself while I give him one last word of advice before we split off,

 

“I’ll open up the conversation and keep it friendly.  You can tell him he’s handsome, at least that will frame the context of your interaction.  But then likely he’ll want to hear something genuine, which doesn’t include a line like that.  Meaning… you. bettah. werk!”

 

I make my way around the length of the bar where the line is least crowded and packed as I see Foursie checking his phone.  He might be Grindring or Scruffing or… maybe even answering a text from his mom?

 

Likely not.

 

I take one more deep breath, take three steps and saddle up on the chair beside him.  With his face still focused on the screen of his phone he adjusts his chair to considerately make more room for me, though we’ve got the entire length of the bar and there are only two stools in front of this bar well.

 

“Hey.  Anything good on there right now?”

 

Foursie looks up at me sort of surprised then puts his phone down.  He turns his chair slightly in my direction – now beaming with a smile.

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED….