When we created this blog, it was because Rae and I got hit on by a very unwelcome guy. The Alanis Morrisette song "Uninvited" comes to mind. Go back if you haven't read that one, it's hilarious.
Tonight, Mischele and I were faced with a very different kind of attempted suitor. Suitors, actually.
Two guys in their early twenties came in the store tonight, to ask us a question. Something about hair color, and how black doesn't actually exist outside a bottle, it's actually dark brown. I'm pretty sure I'm right on that one, but who knows. Not really the point.
One, we shall call Violently Irish. And I mean violently. Orange-red hair, strawberry-flushed complexion, a green Jameson's shirt, the whole deal. The other has been dubbed Wingman. Because really, that was the role he seemed to be playing, and he was good at it.
Then they started in with a game they wanted us to play. They ask us five questions, and we have to answer them incorrectly. It's a trick, as the last question is a very well played "Seriously? You haven't played this before?" which you automatically answer no to. Tricksy jerks.
It was funny, and fun, and we were all laughing, so they hung out a bit. Asked us about the store, what we liked to do, that kind of thing.
It was pretty obvious that they were chatting us up, but as they were entertaining, and breaking up a very slow part of our shift, it was welcome.
A pack of customers came in, and they cleared out of our way, which was nice and definitely gave them points in the respect department (as did the fact that they weren't looking at our boobs while they were talking to us), and we figured they were done for the evening.
We were amused, and flattered, that these guys had come in and spent forty-five minutes talking to us in the first place. They were cute, in their own unique ways, even.
Then they came back, just as we were getting ready to close. I think they got that vibe, and so didn't spend a long time talking that time, but said that they'd had fun talking to us, and wanted to do it again. Asked when we were working again, and lamented at our apparent inability to get a day off. We get days off, (Mischele more than me) but that wasn't what they asked. Whatever.
After they left again, this girl comes in, who apparently was their friend. She said that they were really shy, and wanted our numbers. Shy didn't seem in their bag, given the hour they spent chatting us up, but that's beside the point. Mischele informed said Yellow Sweatshirt Girl that we were both taken, but thanks. YSGirl left.
Almost immediately, we felt bad. Even fake numbers were better than a flat out "No", right? But, there wasn't much we could do about it, and so we let our egos swell, thinking of Violently Irish and Wingman drowning their sorrows in ice cream. (At least, that's what we would have done in their shoes.)
We ran into them on the way out, funnily enough, and by that point we'd decided that we'd say something if we did. The following conversation was a nice one. We thanked them profusely for the complement, and told them that if we were single, they definitely would have gotten our numbers, as their routine was refreshing and new. (How many guys actually want to hear what you have to say, after all?)
Then, morbid curiousity set in, and I had to ask the obvious question.
"How would this have gotten split up?"
Violently Irish and Wingman shifted and looked at each other, before Violently Irish got even redder than usual and said that he would have picked me.
Oh hello, Extremely Large Ego! I haven't seen you in ages!
Then Mischele pipes up and says to Wingman: "So you would have gotten stuck with me?" (See, told you he was the Wingman.) He didn't seem upset about his lot in life in the slightest though.
Mischele gets picked all the time. I hardly ever do. It was a great night.
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