Nice Guys Finish Last

After last week’s marathon post about Mr. Human Rights Activist I thought I would take it easy. There are the occasional nights when everyone who hits on you is just so… nice. Too nice in fact. Now I know I’ve complained about all the assholes that usually hit on me so you’re probably thinking – what the fuck is your deal? Well let me take a moment to clarify. I’m at the bar one evening, it’s a weeknight, and keeping me company is a marvelously girly pink cocktail and a book. The book is called Being Peace by the Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh. Let me tell you, this book is outstanding. But I digress. So there I am, great drink and great book – set.

Apparently having a book at the bar makes you much more approachable because there’s an obvious lead in question, “So what are you reading?” The first guy, we’ll call him nice guy number one (so creative, I know) used those exact words to make his appearance. He didn’t stick around too long, just long enough to get through all the basics. He was nice, moderately attractive, but nothing that drew me in to him.

Nice guy number two used the same strategy, leading in with, “Whatcha reading?” He was around for awhile. Cute, funny and nice are all words I would use to describe him. We talked about the basics and he told me he was new to the city and asked for any tips I could give him. I gave him some recommendations for the area and other such nonsense. He was charming, good company for a chat at the bar, but when all was said and done, there wasn’t a lot more going on for him. Mr. Two had to use the men’s room and while he was gone, a whole pack swooped in. That’s my favorite (and by favorite, I mean the worst thing ever), when a whole group of guys tries to hit on the same girl, all at once. I think it mostly bothers me because it’s against girl code. If a girlfriend spots a guy, you are obligated not to be interested in him, at all, no matter what. Anyway, here I am surrounded by a flock of men. Mr. Two comes back and is quite upset by the fact that he has been replaced. I mean, did he think it was love at first sight? Unfortunately love is not like a Disney movie, so I’m not sure what he was thinking.

Eventually the gaggle of men around me thins (not exaggerating, there were so many, it was overwhelming, or possibly just whelming [Mean Girls anyone? YES]) and two squeezes himself back in beside me. He jokingly (only he’s only half joking, really), accuses me of “cheating on him” – really? I laugh it off, apologizing and saying I can’t help it, the boys come to me. Mr. Two lasts awhile longer, gets my number, because I feel guilty, and then goes. There’s nothing wrong with him, but there’s also nothing that great. Just too nice, too boring.

After Mr. Two comes Mr. Austria. He’s from Austria (no shit, you never would have guessed, right?) and so this is immediately a bonus for me because I speak German fluently (-ish) and always want to practice (particularly after I’ve had a few). However, our mutual knowledge of German is about the only thing we have in common. Again there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s interesting to talk with, polite and moderately attractive. We talked for awhile because I wanted to practice but ultimately we parted ways and I’ll certainly never look back with regret for “not jumping on an opportunity” or some such bullshit.

Once the stream of men slowed to a trickle, leaving me with a second to breathe and check my watch, I noticed the time and headed for home. Its nights like these that are somewhat refreshing but at the same time they also make you wonder. Out of all these seemingly kind hearted men who I talked to all evening, not a single one of them stood out to me. They were all lumped together in the, I’m-just-not-that-into-you zone, not because they were weird or rude, or just plain assholes that you often encounter, they were all just a touch boring, no excitement. Which then poses the question, why do girls always fall for the bad boys? There are good ones out there, but maybe nice guys do always finish last.


About 25shotsandcounting

My name is Sylvia. I’m a 22 year old girl living in NYC. For reasons I wish I knew, I get hit on a lot. I don’t think it’s because I’m particularly more attractive, funnier or even more intelligent than other girls. I’m convinced that it’s some kind of weird aura that only men can sense. An invisible sign that says, “Well hi there, I’m open for business.” Ironically, I’m usually not. The idea for this blog came about while I was dating a bartender in Williamsburg. I would go his bar and have several drinks by myself while waiting for him to get off work. Like clockwork, it was usually only a matter of time before I had a parade of guys come and talk to me. So much so that it became a running joke between my boyfriend at the time and all of his co-workers, just betting how long it would take before I had my next victim. Sometimes flattering, sometimes annoying, other times like some sort of scientific curiosity, the unelicited attention became enough of a pattern to notice and, free drinks aside, generally dread. I seem to be a magnet for awkward pick up attempts, which sometimes lead to misadventures of one kind or another. I know this is a common phenomenon for young women in NYC, but I figured, why not write about it.
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