The Cowboy Code: Chapter Four

There's no delicate way for me to approach this one, so I'll just be out with it: There is no sex in the Champagne Room.

Wait, that's what Chris Rock said in his graduation anthem.

What I meant to write was that guys who don't date much have to be really careful about who they hit on and when...especially when they're in the Champagne Room.

So I was chatting w/one of my guys, who has a tendency to fall for ticket takers, and cashiers, and waitresses, and strippers. All law-abiding work, so I'm in no way poking fun. It's just that they're all jobs with the common denominator of frequent interaction with the paying public.

Anyway, my guy was lamenting that a "date" planned with Hooter's wing slinger had been postponed...again...for like the fifth time.

I asked who postponed. He said she did, every time.

I don't have a problem with the ladies, they're just doing their jobs.

But my guy doesn't get that. He misreads their attention, and their smiles, and their giggles, and their small talk as genuine interest or possible genuine interest.

To be fair, it could be that some of these women are occasionally interested. More likely though, they're just trying to do a good job and capitalize on their tools.

My natural cynicism would say there's no way on earth they're really interested. But who knows?

I told my guy to spare himself some heartbreak and work by this standard: If it takes you walking into her line at the grocery, or through her turnstile at the arena, or in front of her table in the Boom Boom Room to draw a smile out of her, that smile is work-related and not personal.