Pickup Lines 9.15.08

"You're beautiful!" He tosses at me, while passing by on the sidewalk.

"Thank you," I nod, and I keep it moving. I need to sit down with some coffee, and read the rest of this chapter before my next class. I've got an hour and a half to read 30 pages. Im weary. I'm so close to the diner, I can taste it.

Lost in my thoughts, I plod along Lexington Avenue. If I take notes now, maybe I can remember enough for the lecture.

"Hello," I hear from behind my left shoulder, close to my ear. Immediately I check my aggravation. Dude had doubled back and caught up to me, but he has thus far remained respectful, so I have no reason to shut him down mean. I give him a tight smile, and he banters the rest of the way up the block.

"I work around the area. Are you a student?" I nod. "I was thinking about going here, blah blah blah. Blah blah, blah blabbity bloo. Blah blah blah?" Nod. "Ha ha ha! Blah blah blah blah! Blah blah blah. Blaaah blahblah blah bah. Ha ha blah!"

I nod. I give absentminded answers, I've barely glanced at him. It's Monday, see. I went to class straight from work, I'm frazzled, I'm running on an hour and a half of sleep. It's not that I'm cranky, I'm just not good at being social if my heart's not in it.

I try to be personable at least -- in all my years of pubertom I've become quite the advocate for the gentle yet obvious let-down. Sometimes, bitch-mode isn't necessary. I am polite, but frank. Stank is for special reserve.

Blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah. "Sweety, where are you from?" he inquires.

"Brooklyn." I say this as dismissively as I could. It's my default answer, I know what he meant.

"You know what I mean," he chuckles. "Where are your parents from?"

I bristle. "Korea."

"That's wassup. I'm from Brooklyn myself."

I should be used to that slice of conversation. It's always asked during pickup. I let it slide. "Oh yeah? What part?"

"Crown Heights. You?"

Insert hometown here.

"Ooh!" He coos. "And you speak English so well! I'm surprised!" He smiles widely.

REALLY?

His smile falters when I don't beam back. "I was born and raised here," I say, raising my brow. What the fuck, I think. This just happened.

"That's cool. Like I said before, you heard me right? I think you're so beautiful. I just thought I should let you know."

I grimace my thanks.

"So what's your name, beautiful?"

Sigh. "Texti."

"Hi, Texti, my name is Reginald."

I nod. "Reginald." I shake the hand he offers.

He breaks out into another smile. "I love that!" He coos. "You pronounced my name so perfectly, too."

My forehead twitches. REALLY?? "Haha. Okay. Wow. That's it."

"And you just have the most perfect voice--"

I turn. "Hey, Reginald, listen. Thanks for the compliments, really." Smile. "But you've managed to offend me two times already in the ten seconds we've been talking, and I think our conversation is over."

"Offend you? How? I offended you?" He is genuinely bewildered!!!

I open the door to the diner and start pulling it closed behind me. Smile. "I don't know if you got the memo, but Asian people speak English, Reginald. Well. You were surprised that I spoke so fluently, and now you are amazed that I pronounced 'Reginald' right?" Insert real life equivalent to LOL here! "Fuck outta here with that, sweety. Take care, goodbye--"

"Wait!" He says. "Let me explain." Ooh, a bullshit artist. Well? "See, asking you where you from is just making conversation--"

"That wasn't one of the things I listed, was it, Reginald."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. And I said the pronunciation thing because people always pronounce my name wrong! I swear. I didn't mean to offend you."

"Goodbye. Take care." He's following me inside. "NO," I say firmly.

I turn and signal to the waiter, lifting one finger. "One please."

The waiter looks behind me, and asks, "Table for two?"

"Yes, table for two," says Reginald.

"NO." I glare. "TABLE FOR ONE. THANK YOU."

I turn. "Go away Reginald. Have a nice day! I'm just... so not in the mood, you know?" I try to smile, Stank Bitch is still being kept at bay. Ignorant is not the same as intentionally leering. He's just a fucking idiot, breathe.

"Let me buy you dinner, Texti."

I hold up my textbook. "Like I said earlier, I have a lot of studying to do, and you fucked up, so I'm going to have to say no." I shrug in mock apology. My eyes are hard.

"I understand," says Reginald. He nods. "I'm sorry, again." I smile tightly at him, and he backs out the door.

Sighing in frustration and relief, I briefly flash back to all the other wonderfully racist come-ons I've encountered in the past. ("Hey, miss! Is your pussy really slanted?" being the most extreme). Because I feel my chest getting tight with rage, I turn my attention to the menu, choosing to forego my usual mid-class snack of toast and coffee for a pizza chicken sandwhich. Ey, it's payday, I tell myself. I'll splurge.

While I make my order, I see a flurry before my eyes. Suddenly, Reginald is inserting himself into the booth across from me. There is a bouquet of flowers in his hand. "I'll have what she's having," he declares, and the waiter shares a smile with him. "So two?"

I turn to the waiter, stunned. "No, sir. Just one." My eyes flash as I hold his gaze.

"Two," Reginald says. "And I'm paying for the whole thing."

The waiter takes the order and walks away.

My head cocks once in warning.

No this little bird bitch didn't.

To be continued.

**I wrote this the same evening it happened. There is no continuation post. I tried, but it ended up being a musing about the boundaries of respect vs. disrespect, and why I actually ended up having dinner with him. Maybe, if you know me in real life, we can talk about it. It is less of a story to tell, and more of a conversation to have.