…um…okay. I guess.
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Today, I was sitting in the coffee shop studying for the California Bar when this guy just comes up to me and asks me if I thought the music was too loud. I look up, pull out one headphone, assess the coffee shop music and give a small cursory nod of agreement. “Yeah, it’s kind of loud,” I agree.
He nods, “That’s what I thought. I just asked them to lower the volume.”
I shrug, pop my earphone back on, then turn back to my books.
“So, do you live around here?”
I pause in the middle of trying to remember exactly how to analyze res ipsa loquitur and look up at him again. I pop out the earphone again. “What?” I ask, politely.
“Do you live in downtown?”
I’m a nice person. I wouldn’t just give this guy the death glare. But I was mildly irritated. I was focused dammit. Do you know how hard it is to get into the zone with Torts?!?
So, I give him a small smile. “Yeah, I do.”
“It’s a nice area.”
Really? Really?! Small talk? I nod. “I like it, yeah.”
I try to turn back away. I mean, it was obvious, right? He’s standing over my table, I’ve got my laptop, my books and an assortment of papers all around me, and I’m popping my earphone back in.
“So you’re in law, huh?”
OMG. If only lasers came out of my eyes.
“Yeah…I’m actually studying for the Bar…”
“That’s cool. Where did you go to school?”
Can someone please tell me how to not be evil and cut this person off? Cuz it turns out, I don’t know how, and I spent a good solid 20 minutes talking to this guy.
I find out he’s a neurosurgeon. He owns a condo in downtown and a house in Newport Beach. How can someone so successful and awesome on a resume just not get that I was in the zone?
Finally, he goes off, grabs a seat somewhere and reads the paper.
An hour later, he’s back. “Hey, so I’m leaving. Let me give you my number.”
I’m snapped out of my zone again. Wtheck, man?! I have a schedule. A regimen.
And besides, how do I say, “Actually, no, don’t.” or even politely smile and say, “I’d rather you didn’t.”???
So, I smile politely and say, “Um, okay?”
He takes my post-it pad and tears off the front page where I had scribbled some pages on the book I had to review and writes his number(s) down. Wha—? Nobody rips off just anybody’s post-it notes! NOOOO!
He looks at me, straight in the eye. I swear to you it was like the staring game. I was too scared to blink. “Call me,” he says.
Um…no? I really don’t want to? — again, how does one really say that?!?
I don’t really say anything. Maybe I mumbled an ‘okay’ or smiled and nodded. I don’t know. He waves and leaves the coffee shop.
I sigh. Here’s one more number I don’t know what to do with.
So, I don’t get it: Aren’t guys supposed to ask for my digits? What’s with the “let me leave you my number” or “here’s my number if you want to hang out” or the “I left something on your desk”?
Coop says it’s a no-risk move for a guy.
What about for the girl?
Because, sure, while I didn’t particularly like the intrusion of the coffee-shop guy, there was one guy that gave me his number. But I wasn’t sure if it was a gesture of friendship or interest. And don’t get me wrong, I am interested in him. But man, now the ball was on my court and I don’t know what to do!?! I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
I guess I’m a girl in the traditional sense. I like being pursued. I like being the one invited out as opposed to “calling if I wanna hang out”.
I don’t know. Am I just mental? Am asking too much in this modern world? Am I just really chicken-shit when the ball is in my court?
I think the answer to that is yes.
Maybe next time someone I couldmaybekindof be interested in tries to give me his number, I should just say, “Actually, lemme give you my number.”
Problem solved.
GENIUS.
Stop and Stare 