I realized early in my college career that if I wanted to go on dates, I was going to have to do the asking myself. I don’t subscribe to that whole thing about the guy having to make the first move. It always feels good when a dude expresses interest in me, so why shouldn’t I express my interest in a dude and (potentially) make him feel good? Also—let’s be real here—I wasn’t getting asked out by too many people, so this was a decision made mostly of necessity.
And it worked! Ask and you shall receive, apparently. At least three-fourths of the dates I’ve gone on over the course of this academic year were initiated by yours truly. Some were awful, some were bearable, and others rocked. More often than not, people would tell me that they were glad I had asked.
Of course, it’s an imperfect science. A few months ago when I was out to brunch with a friend for her birthday, I asked out the cute guy who was serving us. I recognized him from other times I’d eaten there—this town has like three restaurants—and he joked around with me throughout the meal.
“Don’t let me forget my umbrella,” I said to my friend as we sat down.
“The first rap I ever wrote was about an umbrella!” he interrupted, singing a few lines from it. He was quirky—I liked that.
“So, was that rap just a one time thing or the start of a career?” I asked when he came to refill the water.
“Oh, just the beginning of a very successful career. I’m kind of a big deal.”
“Can I buy your album?”
“You probably won’t be able to afford it—it’s quite a commodity.”
And on and on. “I should leave my number on the bill,” I said to my friend, not seriously considering the idea. She urged me to do it. Impulsively, I did. I wrote a note with my digits that said: “To the cute waiter with the blue hat: So that I can say I knew you before your album went platinum.” Then we bolted from the restaurant.
I wondered if he’d find it beneath the stack of bills, if he’d accidentally throw it out, if he’d know it was from me, if he wasn’t into women, if he had a girlfriend—and in the midst of all this worrying, he texted me.
“Hey! This is [censored] the server from [censored]. Sneaky little message you left on the table! Well, now that you have my number we should grab coffee sometime. Thanks for the fun note!”
We went back and forth for a while, and I learned that he had graduated from my school the year before and now lived in the nearest big city. He told me that he might be back in town that weekend, and promised to let me know if he did indeed come. I was excited that he wanted to see me again and that my random ask-out had worked. A quick Facebook stalking session (everyone does it!) confirmed that he was as good-looking as I’d thought earlier in the day, and he was a stellar banter partner to boot. Score.
You guessed it, though—he never got in touch. Not that weekend, not the week following, and not the week after that. I’ve seen him around campus a few times since, but he doesn’t seem to recognize me. (Okay, okay, I have hidden from him every time. I might be brave enough to ask dudes out, but I still chicken out sometimes!) I thought it would be weird to remind him about our potential date, so I just let things fizzle…or rather, disappear.
Oh well. You can’t blame a girl for trying.