As fate would have it, I was out the other night when I witnessed an even more extreme pick-up fail than the one described last week’s edition. This one was a moving violation.
“Hey beautiful, what’s your name?” a man in a car says while driving by.
On a slow night at a club, a couple of ladies whom I’ve become friendly enough with in the nightlife scene were in the process of greeting each other in passing when the crime took place.
The woman he was addressing couldn’t have appeared less interested.
However, the “macker” was as relentless as he was ridiculous. He didn’t stop the car – only slowed down a bit. However, his attempt to get this woman’s attention was in overdrive.
“Excuse me …”
He asked her name again.
“Kimora,” the woman – who was part Asian – said, hoping to brush him off.
He was so caught up in what he thought was his supreme game that he didn’t get that she had given him the most outlandish “club name” known to man.
“Well, can I call you some time, Kimora?”
The uncomfortable silence went so long it was like life – along with his vehicle – was moving in slow motion.
He was as clueless as he was finesse-less, so he continued to beg for her number without bothering to even stop – let alone park, get out and introduce himself like a gentleman.
“You can call me, but my husband might answer,” “Kimora” intentionally delivered in the most unconvincing tone.
She sounded like one of the singers turned actors who just decided that film and TV were the natural transition for her, regardless of the absence of acting talent.
But anyway, thanks to a mini pile-up of cars behind him blowing their horns, she was spared from any further bother. He sped off into the night.
“Girl, can you believe that?” “Kimora” says to me and her friend.
The friend is more put off than the drive by victim.
“These brothers are on something else these days,” the friend replies. “They think that regardless of what they have going on – or not going on – that we are so thirsty for a man that they can just come with some mess and we are gonna be up for it.”
They laugh.
“So what makes you think that you don’t even have to bother getting out of your car?”
“Kimora’s” friend then proceeds to talking about a situation just as offensive that happened when the two of them were in Chicago on business.
“We were at this night club and this man was talking about how he wanted to take me to a five-star restaurant,” the friend says. “He seemed cool enough, so I was like, ‘Why don’t you buy us a drink and let’s go out to the patio where we can hear each other talk?’”
The man proceeds to make excuses.
“He’s like, ‘Let’s just step outside so we can talk; we can have a drink over dinner tomorrow night,’” she continues her story.
“How you gonna buy me a five-star meal if you can’t even cover the $14 for two drinks?”
Out of sheer boredom, she steps outside only to see that he’s wearing black restaurant pants – yes, restaurant pants – in the club.
Talk about half-hearted … Homeboy changed his shirt, but the bottom half of his body was still in uniform – at this upscale establishment in downtown Chicago. Help!
“Well, I guess I figured out right then how I was gonna get my five-star meal,” she says, laughing out loud. “And it would have come at the cost of an embarrassing service entrance experience and included wine and candlelight in the employee break room.”