“I’ll just have one more,” he promised. “I swear this is the last one.”
I laughed, knowing very well that this was definitely not the case. I pulled the Yuengling handle down and tipped the pint glass underneath.
“So, how many more beers is she worth?” I asked as I placed the beer in front of him.
He had been sitting at the bar for a while, chatting with me about this particular woman whom he had been sort-of seeing for the past month or so. I didn’t mind as I was debriefing about my guy frustrations as well.
And we both know that’s my favorite topic to vent about.
“You’re hooked on her,” I stated.
“No, no, no that’s not it. The sex is just good,” he replied.
I rolled my eyes in disbelief and responded with, “Then why are you here waiting for her 6 beers deep in the same bar chair you were last night?”
Too honest? Maybe. But we had just been taking about how ugly penises are so I figured we were at that level in our bartender-guest relationship to call a spade a spade.
Granted I had only heard his side of the story, it seemed to be as though this chick had her cake and wanted to eat it too. She very well knew that he was totally into her, and she played the “hard to get game,” although from the sounds of it, I don’t know if she ever had intentions on letting him catch up.
Inviting him over, then saying “I’m too tired.” Showing interest, but then claiming herself as “emotionally unavailable.” Acting single and horny, but admitting “I still have feelings for my ex.” It sounded to me like a classic string along, avoiding wanting to download the Hellish abyss that is Tinder profiles in DC and just have this guy at her disposal.
I get it. Attention from men is satisfying, especially when you feel like you’re in charge of the situation. She could have someone to text 24/7 to superficially ignore whatever emotional issues she was going through, but not actually have to follow through on anything. And it was working in her favor, he was waiting for her.
“So, what are you expecting out of this?” I inquired.
“I don’t know. I just know when we hang out, I enjoy myself. But I just can’t figure her out, and it pisses me off. She’s sketchy and just sucks. I don’t know why I even still talk to her.”
Yet, he waited, hoping for a green light to hang out. As he did the night before in the very same bar chair having an almost identical conversation with me.
I feel as though I need to step back and paint you a better picture of this man. To you, he may just seem like a desperate fool. A single man, slugging back $6 Yuenglings with his eyes glued to his iPhone screen. I can feel your judgement through the screen. But, simply put, he’s just a guy trapped in the confusing mess that is modern dating.
Decoding every letter in the small grey bubble in his iPhone, seeking advice from a female counterpart on what move to make next, saying she “sucks,” while anxiously waiting for her reply to come over.
Welcome to dating in 2016.
In case you forgot, in one way or another, we are all desperate fools. We’re always waiting for that green light of assurance. The light that screams, “you’re worth it to me.” Whether that be from a boss or a random Tinder dude, we all do our fair share of waiting.
Don’t wait for him, he’s not worth your time. A mantra all twenty something females chant while riding on their swan floats.
I know he’s not worth my time, Mr. Inflatable Swan, as my bar guest knows very well she probably won’t be worth the headache. I hate the waiting game, yet I fall victim to it time and time again. I’ve run countless assholes who thrive off women waiting around for them, but I still wait for them
all of the time sometimes.
Good things come to those who wait. VOMIT. As I said before, we are always going to have to wait for that green light of assurance, but it freaking sucks. It’s like “oh, of course I got to this stop light when the opposite crosswalk JUST started counting down.” Maybe I am taking this metaphor too far, but in reality, we are all impatient and desperate fools who expect to fly through every green light.
I can’t tell you why this guy was so hooked on this particular female. In the hours I spent talking with him about it, the words “frustrating,” and “sucks,” came up far more than “I really like her” (actually, that last statement didn’t come up at all). But then as I was talking to him about my guy issues, I could have asked myself the same thing. Why the f*ck do you wait for these people, Beth?
His frustrations were all to familiar. Knowing very well you’re worth it to someone, but waiting for someone else to see that is the freaking worst. And I feel like half the time the “chase” trumps how we actually feel. It’s like we get so hooked up on acquiring self-assurance that it distracts us from how we actually feel about the person we are trying to gain assurance from. That was a lot of words, but it made sense in my head.
I want to say that I’ll stop waiting. That I’m an ~*independent women who don’t need no man*~ but the fact is, I have been that guy drinking Yuenglings at a bar waiting only to be disappointed (just sub beer for vodka sodas). Pathetic? Don’t rub it in. Inevitable? In this dating culture, yeah.
“So what do I do?” He asked.
“Give me your phone,” I replied. I continued to delete her messages and phone number and said “Go home.”
Delete the messages and just go the f*ck home.
Easier said then done (especially because of Cloud storage), but if you’re ever debating whether or not you should just home, you probably should just go home tbh.
I would tell you to stop waiting around for people, but I know you won’t. As I will increasingly grow more bitter since I won’t either.
So I guess I’ll leave you with this. Wait for them, but not in the sense that you draw boundaries to other possibilities. When you start losing interest in waiting, they’ll come back full force. You’ll probably think, “Oh, finally! I’m going to drop all of my plans to hang out with them.” Then you’ll argue with yourself, “No, Beth, you’re being a twat. He sucks.” After that, you’ll debate it for a while. You know you shouldn’t, but he’s like a cold slice of pizza in the fridge that has been sitting for too long. You’ll still eat it because in the moment it’ll taste good, but in actuality it’s a piece of stale bread with old cheese purchased last weekend at 3am from a raunchy late night joint in Adams Morgan.
Don’t eat the pizza, just go the f*ck home.
I’m not sure where he went after he finished his last beer, but I’m sure I’ll find out the next time he comes in for Chapter 3 of this modern love story.