Last Friday night, I made my long awaited return to the cursed Jameson’s Pub on Main Street. I’m guessing this is what Chris Paul must’ve felt like putting on a Clippers jersey once again. I didn’t exactly loathe my time there, but surely felt way way way too aware of it. Absolutely bored by my own past, I spent my time looking for land mines instead of tripping over good conversation. It was a zero chum game. So I sipped away the couple hours with a couple sneaky nips of Woodford in a $4 ginger ale. I was there that night for a friend’s birthday. I could make up a name for him, but you know what? Not very important to the story. Instead, I’d like to make up a name for my other friend. Hector. A friend of mine who reminded me that even God herself still exists at Jameson’s Pub on Main Street.
Hector’s a man of emotional contradiction. A qualified chum artist with a broken past. He dates a good amount, more than myself or most single people I know, but never with enough motivation to materialize into more than just drinks, dinner, and whatever might follow. Hector is the product of a COVID college breakup. Like many others, upon his reemergence into public life and single adulthood all at once, a more individualistic mindset felt like the best path forward. But now, a few years down the road into his non-monogamous ways, contradictory answers arise whenever we discuss what Hector wants for his romantic near-future. Sometimes, Hector expresses a growing need for romance. Other times, it feels like we’re outside of a parking garage at 2 AM, in minute 166 of a Michael Mann flick. But as Friday became Saturday at Jameson’s, Hector’s desires were of neither the it’s so over camp nor the we’re so back variety. Instead…Hector felt like he wasn’t getting in the game at all recently.
It’d been a few months since we hit the dumpster fire of the Santa Monica bar scene together, and Hector was ready to reemerge. Unpause the Hinge. Dust off the Common Projects. Put a standing reservation at Companion on Lincoln. Not with any goals in mind. Just some conversation and maybe a phone number to get the ball rolling. And so, I was ready to help. Now, Jameson’s isn’t going in the first round of the meet-cute location draft. But Hector let me know by this time of the night, it’d be perfect for something else (no, not that).
“I need to practice rejection” he told me. Slightly insane, but I was intrigued. Then what came next concerned me. “I’m going to politely ask out 19 waitresses for the sole purpose of rejection.”
I laughed. (Cris Collinsworth voice) Now here’s a guy who’s ready to put his older brother’s shoulder pads on and run into fucking telephone poles. The Cam Skattebo approach to conversation. I told Hector I’d advise against it. This was their place of work, and as a part-time member of the service industry, crossing the 49th parallel can be just taxing on a waitress. Especially one whose credit card tips are already being taxed. But I guess that was sort of the point. Hector wanted to be ignored. This was exposure therapy covered by the deductible of just a bar tab. And so, I let him rock. Thought it’d make for a good newsletter, at least. But I’ll leave that for you to decide, then promptly make viral.
Hector knew who he wanted to strike up a conversation with first. She was his immediate waitress and we’d soon learn that she had the craziest Dutch name ever. When her family got to Ellis Island, they must’ve added more syllables. Therefore, I’m just going to refer to her as…Sally Syllables. Hector approached Sally S. as she brought a few empty glasses to the bussing station. They chatted. But I noticed immediately upon approach and lay, she didn’t get the rejection memo. There was no look of disdain. No eye roll in sight. Instead, even a little smile. Then, in the blink of an eye, Sally Syllables was off. Hector returned, with the look of a man who’d just proved himself wrong. Rejection practice was canceled that night. It was a quick yes, people. But no number, just yet.
She told him she had to clock out first. So we waited. And waited a little longer. Still no sight of Sally Syllables. Hector began to fear she’d run a lay action on him and slipped out the kitchen door. It’d be a far more twisted version of rejection practice no human should take to the gut for the sake of reps. But I kept the faith. Decided to venture back into the crowd and scour the dance floor (respectfully) for Sally Syllables. It took a couple of laps, but she emerged like Sonny Hayes on race day at Abu Dhabi. That’s an F1 joke for anyone keeping score. Sally even had a Tupperware of brownies she offered us. They weren’t very good. But I’ll let that slide.
So no rejection practice, after all. Instead, maybe a lesson in land mines. We can tell ourselves that the worst will surely happen but I’m starting to believe that both the best and worst are beyond our control. And while a couple of no’s can ease the sting of the next one…I’d say we’ve got all the practice we need to take a step forward and introduce ourselves. The result? Even at Jamesons…I now know to expect the unexpected.
From The Archives
(originally published in The Pioneer Newsletter #15)
This is a picture of Diane Keaton exiting a tennis club in Annie Hall. Her fit has been discussed, written about, and pinned on many occasions since the film’s release in 1973. But I first watched Annie Hall in 2018, which anyone with a calculator knows, is 45 years after 1973. So any opinions I may have about how cool she looks will inevitably be conventional or trite. But this week, she’s still my hero. Because I rewatched Annie Hall over the weekend. For anyone who still has their calculator out, that’s 6 years after my first watch in 2018. I completely forgot Diane Keaton exited a tennis club in a goddamn tie. What a move. Why don’t I wear ties? Why am I not part of a tennis club? The latter requires membership or at least reciprocity. But a tie? I’ve got a few right in my closet. I had plans that night at the High Low Bar in Los Feliz and I knew how much the neighborhood of Los Feliz would appreciate A CHOICE. So I consulted with a trusted third party who endorsed said choice and for the first time in a long time - put on a tie. Just like Diane Keaton in Annie Hall, I was met with widespread critical acclaim. So readers, I really don’t care how old the Diane Keaton Looks Cool in Annie Hall opinion is now [get your calculators out again] 51 years after she first exited that tennis club. Just like the necktie itself, the opinion is timeless.