The Utility/Futility of Pick-Up Lines

When I was in college, my favorite writer was Norman Mailer. Before you judge me too harshly, think back to when you were in school: was it William S. Burroughs, Ayn Rand, Charles Bukowski or sci-fi pulp? We were all into writers/directors/artists that, today, we're a little reluctant to own up to. Check amongst yourselves.

Anyway, Norman Mailer came to visit my school, which was/is(?) famous for its writers' workshop program. I attended with some friends. Norman Mailer was larger than life--he was vulgar, profane and loud. Several women walked out during the reading but none raised a voice of protest, if only because their academic advisors were men who were obviously enjoying themselves very much. Mailer was generous enough to sign autographs at the end. I have never collected autographs and I have a low opinion of people who do, but I was thrilled when he personally signed my second edition copy of The Naked and the Dead.

Well, four or five of us went across the street to a bar after the reading, and I saw HER sitting at a table, with 8 or 9 friends. SHE was someone I had worked with until about 6 months before. I was always attracted to her but aside from the usual office small talk we really didn't know thing one about eachother.

My lack of initiative during my time with the company bothered me. I kept asking myself, what would Norman Mailer do? I did a shot with my friends and approached her table. I greeted her, she me, and asked her if I could speak to her privately. She shrugged, stood up and walked over to me. I said,

"Can I be forward with you?"

"Uh, yeah...sure."

"I've always wanted to make love to you."

She looked down at her drink and suddenly the moment of clarity hit me like a bucket of cold water. Shit! I would be wearing that drink all over my face in a second. Then she would get one of those burly guys at her table (I thought, I bet she's dating one of them) to start a fight with me. I stood there in frozen panic. Finally, she looked up.

"Would you like to take a walk?"

That was my hole-in-one, my 300 game and my Hail Mary touchdown pass. I have never used a line like that since. It's a safe bet that I won't. It was the worst pickup line I have ever used in my life, and somehow it worked.

Since the publication of The Game a year ago, groups of women in Chicago taverns have been approached by random men who have to get back to their friends in a moment but really need a woman's opinion on some issue. The Game, however, is not a pickup guide. It's an exploration of the longings, yearnings and frustrations of what it means to be a single man in today's world. Some women reject it out of hand as a misogynistic piece of pulp writing targeted to the lowest common denominatator of mouth-breathing neanderthal. Most of these women have never read it.

The fact is, if you're a single man, you need a schtick. A routine. A few good stories. The onus is on our gender. If we see a woman who attracts our eye, it's up to us to approach her. She won't approach us. We can walk away and sigh to ourselves, "oh....would be so nice to know someone like that." But we diminish ourselves a little bit each time we do so. Far better to approach, even unsuccessfully.

There does exist a community of hard-core devoted pick-up artists. They are not normal, well-adjusted young men. Anyone who is willing to spend hours and hours of his spare time practicing routines and stories designed to attract random women in bars is someone who has felt the hard lash of rejection across his back and the heavy burden of insecurity on his shoulders more than a few times. But their story is a fascinating one, and any woman who wants a deeper understanding of the male psyche, as well as insight into what may be her emotional/sexual trigger points, would do well to read The Game. To say off-hand, "No! That would never work on me!" is a bit of a cop-out.

I was a late bloomer. My early teens were not one of the more pleasant times in my life---I had braces, acne, thick glasses and a mother who purchased random discount jeans and ill-fitting shirts for me to wear. Add to this that I was atrociously uncoordinated and bookish and you get the picture. A few months before my 16th birthday I got contacts and took charge of my own jean purchases. My face had cleared up by this time and I had filled in a bit following my awkward growth spurt. However, I didn't feel truly confident until the first time I kissed a girl. Then things started to click.

We men do derive an inordinate amount of our self-esteem from our ability to attract women. Pickup lines are our plummage. Eventually, the best and brightest of us will reject the rote memorization of canned routines for stories and anecdotes that reflect who we are and what we are about. But in a society in which women are free to choose their own sexual partners, there will always be a necessity for opening lines.