For the first time in my life, I can’t tell if this reasonably attractive guy is sitting here, in this bar, you know, the one that I work at, the only customer in here at 1am, telling funny stories and drinking frilly cocktails because he’s into me, or if that’s just what he’s doing. I try in my mind to tamp down the narcissism, and, like the mature adult I aspire to be, take it for what it is: an adult, friend zone-y, casual business interaction. I try to tell myself that not *every* customer in this goddamn shit hole is here because they’re salivating and lining up to look at my pussy.
But somehow this idea goes against everything I’ve ever known about men, penises, relationships, fucking. Basically I’ve based my whole theory on relationships on the fact that my best friend is a tried and true, legitimate sex addict, and therefore I know that all that matters is the fucking, and I should tuck my tail between my legs and sad waggle out the door in silence the next morning. I haven’t ever really interacted with anybody who ever made me think otherwise. Even when those tricky little things called emotions come into play in a relationship, it’s still pretty obvious that the sex is what this is really about, right?
As we edge around a casual conversation, talk of local restaurants, and he describes this particular one as, “A really good date spot.” Generally, as a sexually aggressive and perhaps even predatory female, this is when I lean back and wait for the predictable, “We should go there some time.”
But it never comes. He set that one up, but he never pitched it in and hit out of the park. This is strange.
All of a sudden I’m questioning my femininity in a grotesque, self absorbed way. I’m beginning to wonder, ‘If this guy isn’t wasting his time being the only patron in this bar right now just so he can hit on me, then what’s really going on?’ Sure, maybe he’s an alcoholic, but if he is, then it’s significantly less gross and unattractive than the legions of alcoholics I deal with every day. In fact, he looks so clean. He looks like he bathes and uses carefully selected, high quality, unscented bath products that aren’t available at Walgreen’s.
It’s not even that he’s my type, or I’m overwhelmingly attracted to him. I tell myself that he’s just about like every other guy, some sort of standard, middle of the road attractive with funny stories. And I know that the only reason I’m freaking out about this right now is because he’s not hitting on me. So when he leaves and tells me he’ll see me next time, I’ve come to anticipate that next time, because what is this strange beast that is deliberately friend zoning a hot piece of ass like me?
This has never, ever happened in my life before. Challenge accepted.
Maybe he has a girlfriend, but if he does, why is she never here, and doesn’t he know that he can cheat on her?