Shy or Sly?
Girls, how’s this for a pick up story?
I was working in the bar alone on a quiet monday night. Your typical crowd came in for $12 steak night but by 9pm my voice was the only one to be heard above the constant hum of the pokie tunes. The knowledge that we would be open for another three hours was never far from my mind. However, my luck turned. A group of guys, all around 23, walked through the doors. As they approached the bar I took the chance to eyeball. The three of them were dressed in chinos, two with baseball shirts, the last had a button up denim look going for him. Straight away I decided that they were not my type and served them their vodka, lime and sodas tall glasses with straws.
After an hour, the dominant personality of the group started to throw a few comments my way. Nothing special, just your average chit chat. While I was engaging in the not so thrilling banter of Mr Personality, I noticed that Denim Shirt kept looking at me out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t because he was trying to check me out or anything, he just seemed really shy and didn’t know how to intereact with a female.
A few drinks later it was Mr Shy’s turn to buy the round. I watched him nervously approach the bar. I casually went over and asked how his night was going and if they lived in the area. He just beamed a rather large smile at me and nodded. Ok, didn’t really answer my question but I chalked it up to the nerves. So to put him out of his misery, I asked if they were having the same order. He shook his head and flashed that smile of his. He began to say something that came out as “Su….Sup…Sss”. Within a few seconds he had given up, held out three fingers and pointed to the Super Dry tap.
They ended up staying until close and the entire time Smiley kept bearing his pearly whites. I couldn’t understand why he just wouldn’t talk to me though. At midnight, as they were leaving, he came up to the bar and dropped a note in front of me. Written on the back of a TAB ticket was
“Hi my name is Asher,
I am so sorry I didn’t grab your name or number but I have this condition that makes me stutter when I am nervous. It seems to only happen when I talk to pretty bartenders. No point giving you my phone number because if you called I would be reduced to a stuttering mess. I hope to see you again sometime”
The next night, sure enough, he came in to collect my number. No stutter this time! When he asked why I wouldn’t give it to him I simply said, “It was a lie”.
His response was “But it worked. I had you thinking about me all day and wondering when I would be in next”
I have to admit, it was a pretty cute, and a well executed move!