A league of your own

2009-06-09 11:08

There's only one thing more amusing (or painful) than watching Debra Patta grimace her way through a very earnest investigative interview, and that's watching a man trying his best to pick up a woman way out of his league. No one should believe that anything is beyond reach, but sometimes some things are so far away it's better not to try and grasp for them.

I was waiting for my dinner companions at a restaurant last week. Being a man of impeccable timekeeping I had a few minutes to kill before they arrived.

The dining area was sparsely populated with little commotion to hold my attention. With its well-oiled patrons and unnerving amounts of pale blue shirts and sleeveless sweaters, the bar seemed a more lively, if not necessary fashion savvy, waiting room.

There was an old Afrikaans chap holding court in one corner, no doubt the head lawyer taking his indifferent underlings out for a post-work drink and gloat session.

This made for interesting viewing in that it was mildly entertaining to see how bored his listeners were, yet how compelled they were to laugh at his dreary tales. In the far corner of the bar, however, a far more intriguing scenario was playing itself out.

Three office workers (by now I figured everyone, dressed in matching grey pinstripes, sweaters and pastel-themed shirts, had drifted in from the nearby law offices and that this bar was their local) were chatting animatedly.

Two girls; one an absolute belter, the other the prerequisite dowdy friend that all good-looking women seem to have in large supply and the guy, a slowly balding, early thirty-something plain-looker with a voice volume just loud enough to suggest that he's probably used to using noise to attract attention rather than any discernible wit.

Burst bubble

And so our man goes in for the kill. All the moves were on show. The slight arm touch of the hottie as he rubs her on the shoulder asking what she'd like to drink, the guffawing laugh at her lame story about Pashmina the kitten falling asleep in the tumble-drier and, of course, bringing up the same shared joke from three years previously to show that they share some kind of connection.

Meanwhile, Miss Dowdy looks on, receiving little or no attention from Laughing Larry or Miss Skinny Pencil Pants, save for the odd "What's this guy on about?" eye roll from Skinny when Larry's getting a fresh round of drinks.

I had to admire his tenacity. But his little bubble burst when the office hunks (more pinstripe, less flab) stormed into the bar like Resistance-hunting Gestapo and instantly made a dash for Miss Skinny Pants and to employ the kiss and back pat technique (this is where you get the "hello" kiss in and a cop a little feel by giving a half hug, half rub of the back. Laughing Larry types generally lack the confidence to try this one and usually have to make do with a polite handshake).

It's at times like these that people should be able to see little thought bubbles above one and others heads. Imagine the anguish saved. When Miss Skinny Pants laughed at a Larry joke he'd have seen her thought bubble saying, "right, I'll get one more free drink out of this goon and by then tall, handsome and extraordinarily gifted on the golf course Charles, who drives a Lexus you know, should be here."

And with a swift glance to his right he would have seen Miss Dowdy's (ignored all night, but wanton none the less) innermost desires, "I may have a terrible haircut. You may have tried your luck with my friend who, by the way, is not entirely sure who you are, but come on, I'll give you..."

- News 24