a) Nod and mouth 'Thank you'
b) Invite him over to chat
c) Take him to the dance floor
d) Fuck him
This weekend, Miss LC and I performed a little social experiment to find out exactly what a girl is to do...
Whilst drinking at one of Dubai's trendy clubs and eyeing up any potential eligible bachelors, Miss LC and I were handed another round of drinks by the bar staff. With the look of confusion on our faces, the bar staff, who were all lined up at the bar with equal space between each of them, immediately pointed to a man at the bar. Far from it being a sexy, smouldering man in a suit as it always is in American series', we were a little disappointed to see a nerdy blonde guy drinking at the bar on his own.
Unsure of which of the above options we were obliged to do, we asked our quintessentially English friend R on what we should do. Being no help at all, R suggested 'd' as the best option as it was 'the rules'. Clearly R is often the guy at the bar who sends over drinks to the ladies and expects to get laid. This is because it probably works for him, but no doubt it's the suave dress sense (as long as they don't look at his mismatched shoes), his schoolgirl laugh and the irresistible English charm that helps him win the ladies over, rather than the free cocktails. Mr. R, is that how you get so much gash?
Having ruled out option d, we decided we should probably invite him over for a chat. After all, he was on his own, staring at his drink and we thought what he did took balls. Feeling sorry for him, we agreed we'd invite him over for a chat. Earlier in the day I'd said to Miss LC that we really should make an effort to chat to more guys, even if they were minging, because they might have hot friends. That was a mistake, as this guy didn't have any friends, let alone good-looking ones!
Once he'd taken his eyes off his drink and looked up at us, I beckoned him over. I knew immediately that I'd made a mistake, but a minute later he sauntered over. Making polite conversation with him - what's your name, where are you from, what do you do - it became evidently clear that he was somewhat trashed. Swaying and knocking into us as he spoke, his alcohol breath was making us gag.
We established his name was Trinko, that he was Austrian and that he lived in Ajman. When asked where is friends were, he held out his arms towards me and Miss LC. Did he really constitute a three-question conversation as a friendship? Was he really that much of a loner that we were the closest people to him to be called friends? It wouldn't surprise me if that was the case.
As we sipped our drinks in an effort to finish them quickly, so that we could make our excuses and leave, the bar staff were all giving us the knowing look. Do you know the one I mean? The one where they're sympathetic but they're also kind of laughing too? They could see Trinko was was worse for wear and that we had just been polite in inviting him over, not expecting him to be so much of a tool.
Not long into the conversation, Trinko walked off. We were relieved to say the least. By now, the bar staff were all laughing, and as I glanced at where Trinko had been standing, I noticed a bottle of Captain Morgan rum that had been mostly consumed already. Around the bottle were more drinks. This would have been a perfectly acceptable scene should it have been a group of friends at a bar or two big Russian guys coming to a business agreement, but this was one weedy Austrian guy all on his own.
As he trundled back to the bar, I asked him if he enjoyed drinking on his own. In reply, he managed to slur "I don't like alcohol". As much as I wanted to believe the swaying, rum-fume breathing loner, I couldn't contain myself and simply retorted "It sure doesn't smell like it". Miss LC and I couldn't contain our laughter. It was a sorry situation; two single girls drinking at a bar having only been able to pick up a half-cut, no make that totally-cut, lone ranger. Eugh.
Trinko didn't appreciate us laughing at him, but no sooner had we clocked him looking upset than he was propped up at the bar having a snooze. Yep, he was asleep. This was our opportunity to escape! We downed our drinks in an attempt to make a run for it but we were stopped in our tracks by the woken beast. Being the well-mannered girls that we are, we made our excuses, said goodbye and bolted. Like lightening.
So, the moral of the story is - if a guy sends over a drink to your table, stick to option a. Anything more is heading for disaster. Unless he's a quintessential Englishman, of course.
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