Tuesday, January 31, 2012

The Curse of the Skort.

Is it bad that when I'm asked about unfortunate events the first thing that comes to mind is dating?

Perhaps this is a worn out topic, but those over-produced and over-hyped romantic comedies are not kidding when they joke about New York City being the hardest city to find love. The show Portlandia even made a parody rom-com where the lead character is looking for "Mr. Write" in New York City. Catch is, she is married a great guy already.

If only my life were that simple!  I seem to meet people every single day that seem like they have potential to not be completely horrible life partners. But the catch with me is that I am too eager to jump to this conclusion and maybe give too many men the shadow of the doubt of not being completely horrible people. This leads me to my next rant that stems from my job.

Newsflash to all male diners at my place of work, just because we are being paid to serve you does not mean that we, the waitressing staff, is a low-end prostitute. I've had the most awkward yet entertaining advances while working.  Maybe it's the sexy skort - yes, skort. As in, this lovely item of clothing.


Maybe it the overwhelming sense of sadness and fatigue that is emanating from our eyes? Either way, various men of the Upper West Side have found themselves fancying me in my fancy skort.  

It always happens when I am not sending any signals and would NEVER be interested in the gentleman in question. I've had a man who give me his business card and inform that if I ever wanted to grab lunch to call him. His line of work? "International Bridge Player"... What are you really doing with your life, sir, and why do you have a business card that states this as your lame-ass job?

 I also had a table of two men that were very demanding trip me up at the last moment. They had been finished with their food and asked for their check. I total it up, bring it over to them, and as I drop it off, the older of the two asks me,

"Can you get me an extra napkin?"

"Sure thing."

(I walk over and grab a napkin and bring it back)

"Here you are."

"And you have an extra pen?"

"Uh, sure. Hold on."

(I walk over and grab a pen and bring it back)

"Here you are."

(Man scribbles furiously as I turn to walk away)

"And here is my number. If you ever want to go out sometime, give me a call."

Say WHAT?! No no no no. No. 

Both of these men in question were much too old for me. I have the rule of trying, emphasis on "trying," to stay within a decade of my age when I'm dating men that are older than me. These guys? Way too old for me. Late-late forties to fifties. And Father Time had definitely not taken to them well where their hair was concerned. What makes it worse is after they give me their phone numbers, they ask if I am just starting college in New York and THEN look disappointed after I tell them I have graduated already. If they only knew that I took an extra long time in school when I added my dual-degree... I'm sure their mildly pedophilic fantasies would be completely deflated. Maybe I should start telling them that.

In spite of attempting to find love in the toughest city to do anything in, I still don't see myself as trying to find love at all. I prefer to think as being open to it if the time is right. And the person is overwhelmingly attractive. That definitely helps. Until then, I will continue in my attempts to ward off advances from old men buying overpriced pastries.






3 comments:

  1. I think that being open to it should it come along is probably the smartest thing any of us can do for ourselves. Good job, smart lady!

    ...but:
    1) They make you wear SKORTS?
    2) You should have gone for the International Bridge Player. Obviously anyone who goes to the trouble to print business cards for a fake job is a keeper.

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