No, You Cannot Have My Number

by Anna Skorczeski

As a recent college graduate, I am entering the "It's hard to meet new people" phase of my young social life. Let's be honest, high school and college were both 4-year-long group dates. Meeting people was not hard. But now I am no longer surrounded by people of all the same age that share many of my interests. I have had my first glimpses of The Bar Scene, and based on what I've seen, things look bleak. From my preliminary observations, I have found a predictable interaction between total strangers:

Man approaches woman in bar. Possibly orders her a drink. Creates awkward unsolicited small talk that often manages to include his yearly income. As last call nears, a fear of never seeing this wonderful lady ever again mounts. He asks for her number, or slips his to her.

The man knows three things about the woman:
her general physical appearance
that she goes to bar
that she speaks English

Is that really enough? Maybe she has anthrax. Maybe she eats her toenails. Maybe she has jars of spiders in her closet. Maybe she puts mustard on her ice cream. Maybe she doesn't brake for puppies. Maybe she gets heavy bloody noses once every 6 hours. Maybe she has a tattoo of Weird Al covering her entire back. Is anyone willing to risk all these things for the minute chance that someone will sleep with you?

This abrupt approach leads to the option of the Fake Name and Number. Giving out false numbers and telling strangers false names upon introduction is a very common defense, it turns out. Having been raised under the Judeo-Christian ethic of "Do Not Lie To People," this Bar Tactic has not come easily to me. My first impulse, when asked my name, is to tell my name. No, no, no. Always have a pseudonym ready as unlike your real name as possible so they can never track you down. I made the mistake of just going with Anne the other night. I'm still a beginner.

Cell phones are an added curse. The stranger is able to immediately check the validity of the number you have just given them. And, when your phone doesn't ring as he dials the number you gave him, the poor fool says, "Oh, you seem to have accidentally given me the wrong number." Of course it's the wrong number, and you're an ass for pointing it out. It's like saying, "Oops, you forgot to invite me to your party." To these people I assign writing out the definition of "intentional" 100 times on the blackboard.

No amount of good will or even pity is going to make it worth my while when you drunk dial me at 3:24am. So sorry, but my name's Shaniqua and my number's 777-1100. Call me.