I went to do some banking for the store yesterday, and I saw this cute new blonde that was working there. We exchanged pleasantries and the like, then I went back to work. I told Tom about her, and he told me he saw her the day before.
"Yeah, I went in there, and the teller who was doing my stuff started asking me questions, like, 'How old are you?' and, 'Have you got a girlfriend?'"
"I thought we were talking about the blonde."
"We are. I told her I'm 19 and I have a girlfriend. And she turned to the blonde and said, 'I think he'd be your type. That's too bad.' I should've said I was single."
"It must be nice to have everyone just throw themselves at you all the time, Tom."
"Well, I just go in there with the bag of money, and act like I'm the shit. You should try that."
Fast Forward: Don Pablo's, the Mexican restaurant that God eats at, if God existed.
Our waitress is kinda cute. No ring. She might be single. Maybe I should try Tom's advice. I can be "the shit." As it turns out, I cannot be "the shit." I spent most of the time avoiding eye contact as always. Then, I had the urge to write my phone number on the bill and indicate myself as the "not insane one." (I went there with Ralph) What's the worst she can do? Not call. Nah, you know what? I don't think I made a good enough impression. I wanna stand out enough for someone to remember me to call.
"Mmm, that was good."
"Ralph, sometimes I hate being me..."
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