And he called me beautiful.
He already texted.
He wants to buy me a beer tonight.
But he might have a girlfriend.
Maybe?
I’m not really sure… you be the judge:
Loo and I headed out a little after 8 last night with the hopes of grabbing dinner before the band went on. We immediately snagged a spot towards the back of the bar sharing a large table with a handful of other people who we quickly made friends with.
Because we’re social like that.
My only complaint was that my back was to the entire bar, which is kind of a pet peeve of mine. I am a master people watcher, and I hate not being able to keep my eye on a crowd. Maybe it’s a throwback from the years I spent actually managing bars, but I’m just not comfortable having my back on that many people. You never know what could be going on behind you!
I kept my mouth shut though, because the bar was packed and our server was adorable.
That’s right. I had a thing for The Waiter.
And it’s here that I should probably mention that I have never in my life actually dated a server. Not even when I was a server. I dated plenty of bartenders, but never anyone who actually waited tables. Even when I was 15 and got my first job as a hostess, I was immediately courted by the 19 year old bartender – a fact which my father was none too pleased about.
So last night, as I was contemplating hitting on The Waiter, I really began to question whether or not I could date a server. No judgment of course (after all, I spent 8 years of my life working in some capacity or another in bars and restaurants), but… I’m kind of past that point in my life. I have a steady job, a home I own, and I tend to be in bed before midnight most nights of the week. I remember how my days in the bar and restaurant industry were spent, and it really is a totally different lifestyle.
But then I remember that I’m not necessarily looking to date Mr. Right at the moment. That I just need to have a little fun. A little flirtation. A little excitement back in my life.
And the waiter was cute. Tall. Dark hair. Beard. Pretty much the kind of guy anyone who knows me would immediately be able to point out as being my type.
So, I flirted. Dazzled him with my smile. Shot him looks across the bar. Gave him doses of my wit when he swung by our table.
I was doing my thing. And I was doing it well.
Until that is, Loo decided to take things into her own hands.
You see, Loo is more aggressive than I am. Which is fine. Great for her. And it works – she's constantly meeting new guys. A plethora of men she finds herself chatting up and getting to know. Most never turn into anything serious, but I have to hand it to her – she makes a ton of friends this way.
I just happen to be more about quality than quantity. Plus… I kind of have a thing for men who are willing to take the lead. Especially in the beginning.
Besides, I have plenty of friends.
And anyway, we all saw what happened the last time I took the lead.
So yes, the truth is – I like men who know what they want. And who are willing to take my more subtle clues and run with them.
Which is why when I saw Loo getting the urge to intervene (as she has now done 100 times when I’ve pointed out a guy I find attractive – much to my chagrin), I launched into a lecture about how I was 28 years old and perfectly capable of picking up on men all by myself.
It became the mantra of the evening.
I am 28 years old! A grown adult woman thankyouverymuch!
Of course, it apparently fell on deaf ears, because the next time The Waiter stopped by our table, she leaned over and asked him if he had a girlfriend.
Now, I had no idea this was going on. The band had started playing, and I couldn’t hear a thing. But when I saw the look she gave me, I just knew.
He walked away, and she leaned over to me to tell me that he had said he was seeing someone.
And, I tore into her. Loo is one of my best friends. I love her with all my heart. But… it drives me crazy that she doesn’t let me do these things myself. On my own time. In my own way. And she knows this.
“I am 28 years old!” I began. “I don’t need my friends hitting on guys for me. I don’t want you finding out information I am perfectly capable of finding out for myself. We aren’t in high school!”
I was irritated, but not really. I don’t typically get angry at my friends very easily, so even as I was shouting above the music – I was laughing. It annoys me, but I would choose my friends over random guys in bars pretty much any night of the week.
As I was laying into her though, The Waiter came back.
He couldn’t possibly have heard anything we were saying. We were sitting right next to a speaker, and the music was deafening.
But… He looked at me right in the eye and said “For the record though, you’re beautiful. And I might just have to call my girlfriend and see if she wants to break up now.”
Neither Loo or I could figure out how he had known she had been asking for me, but he must have just seen our body language after the fact. And from that point forward, he became much more attentive and receptive to my otherwise subtle flirtation.
To the point that I started to question if he really did have a girlfriend at all. I know that back in my bartending days, anytime a customer asked if I was dating someone I pretty much always said “yes”. It became second nature. I had no interest in dating anyone I had served drinks to the night before. And it just saved the awkwardness for those times when the customers asking weren’t exactly date-worthy to begin with.
I started to wonder if perhaps he hadn’t answered before thinking.
Which is why, when we left, I might have written “Just in case…” on the back of the receipt, along with my number.
Of course, in my chicken scratch handwriting there was nothing at all alluring about this note. Loo made the point of letting me know that my handwriting wasn’t very feminine, to which I responded “I am 28 years old!”
But really… I have the handwriting of an 8 year old boy. It’s embarrassing. And it’s the sole reason why I don’t handwrite anything if I've got a choice.
There was this guy I was dating back when I was 18 or 19 who wound up with one of my trademark letters.
Because as we’ve already discussed – I am a letter writer whenever things go south. Always have been. Probably always will be.
Months later, when we had found our way back into an “on” phase of our on-again-off-again thing, he proclaimed that the most hurtful thing to him about that letter was that I had typed it. He said it felt so impersonal that I hadn’t handwritten it instead.
The damn thing was 12 pages long. If I had handwritten it, my arm would have fallen off! And I can guarantee he would have only been able to read about every third word.
Plus, I know for a fact that letter was read aloud on a rafting trip, providing hours of endless entertainment to most of our mutual male friends. So really… I’m pretty sure he’s glad I typed it.
I’m pretty sure most people are glad when I type anything.
Which is why, when I looked at my own handwritten come-on (to a guy who may or may not have a girlfriend), I cringed a little and immediately wanted to take it back. My handwriting actually embarrasses me to that level.
But, I left it on the table. And Loo and I walked out.
We went straight for my car, with the intentions of swinging by one more bar before calling it a night.
And right there on my windshield was a ticket.
I had mentioned inside the bar that I needed to head out and pay for more time. I had only initially paid for 2 hours since I wasn’t sure how long we were going to stay. But when I tried to run out and quickly pay, Loo had begged me not to leave her side. She was getting some creepy looks from someone across the bar, and didn’t want to be left vulnerable for him to swoop in.
I knew better. I knew that I am a girl who follows the rules, simply because when I don’t – I get caught. I learned this lesson young. I am not a girl who can get away with anything. And so – I follow the rules. Even when those around me make fun of me. I follow the rules.
But for some reason, I conceded and stayed by her side. We would only be there another half hour or so anyway.
A half hour or so in which I managed to get myself a $30 ticket.
Cursing my own stupidity (because really, I knew better), I got in the car.
And Loo immediately grabbed the ticket out of my hand. Promising to pay for it for me, since she was the one who had convinced me to stay inside (and since her car [which was also over the limit] was mysteriously ticket-free - because some girls have all the luck).
I grabbed it back from her though, and again launched into my diatribe. “I am 28 years old. A grown adult woman. I could have told you 'no' and come out here and paid the $5. I caved to peer pressure, and I knew better. I can pay my own ticket. I am 28 years old.”
It was then (likely the 30th time in the evening I had announced my age) that Loo finally stopped me and with a smile on her face announced “No you are NOT! Your birthday isn’t for another month!” as she grabbed the ticket out of my hands.
She had me there.
We laughed for the rest of the night over my awkward note, and the boy who may or may not have a girlfriend. And then we parted ways after a short stint at the second bar with a bartender who was clearly smitten with her.
We both crawled into bed past our bedtimes, and realized too late that it was even later still because of the switch for Daylights Savings Time.
But it was a good night. A fun time. Flirting, and beer, and laughter.
Exactly what I needed.
And just about an hour ago, I got a text from The Waiter. Asking me to come back in tonight after the dinner rush. Telling me he would like to buy me a beer.
He’s a server.
He may or may not have a girlfriend.
And it has been a great many years since I have headed to a bar by myself with the intentions of flirting with someone still working.
But I think I’m going to go. Feel things out. Test the waters, and find out for the very least whether or not he does have someone waiting in the wings.
Because just to be clear – if there is a girlfriend, that would absolutely be a deal breaker.
He has an 808 area code though. Meaning he moved here from Hawaii at some point or another. Maybe he just got here, and is serving until something else comes up. Maybe he’s a world traveler, and works whatever jobs he can during the brief intervals that he lands. And maybe he’s just a waiter.
But either way, I kind of want to know his story.
And besides, I am 27 and 11/12th's years old.
A grown adult woman.
And if a cute boy asks to buy me a beer?
I’m going to let him.
