Creep No More

Today we are back to the usual. Setting: Pianos bar on the lower east side. For those of you who don’t know it, it’s a hip live music venue with a seemingly young vibe. Bar in the front with a DJ, live music in the back of various genres and an upstairs playing all the hits for your pleasure. Like I said before, and let me stress this, a younger vibe. I walked in one very cold night and was waiting for a girlfriend who was meeting me there. When I arrived there weren’t any seats at the bar so I was awkwardly standing around for a hot second before squeezing in at the bar to grab a drink and while I was waiting for my drink, a seat opened up at the bar, you know how it goes. I sat down, made myself comfortable, sipping on my drink. Shortly after, my friend arrived and we started chatting away. We’d already been there a little while when another friend showed up and surprised us. And now there were three, which is apparently easier to approach than two. 

The first man leaned right in between my girlfriend and I and asked if he could squeeze in to order drinks (mind you he’d already actually barged his way in, so he wasn’t really even asking). He tried to make small talk with me as he ordered his drinks. Then as he was paying he decided he needed to buy me a drink “for my trouble”, although I noticed he wasn’t eagerly buying my friend a drink for her trouble. Anyway, I said sure to the free drink, fine by me. I mean who says no to free drinks? Certainly not the poor dancing nanny that is me. As my drink was being made he feebly tried to make a joke. “I’m going to drink all of these,” he motioned to the two beers and a mixed drink that he had just purchased, “one at a time.” I looked blankly at him until he felt the need to say “I’m joking”. As you can tell, things were getting off to a great start. My drink comes but creepo keeps hanging around. He asked if those were my friends, the people I was with (nah, just some random people I decided to wait for, and sit with, and talk to at the bar. Yes dickwad, those are my friends). He told me that he had noticed me when I first came in and that it looked like I was waiting for someone. Cool story bro. I wanted to tell him that I had noticed him when I first walked in also. It’s hard to miss an older indian man, dressed in a suit drinking red wine, straight up creeping at the bar by himself. However I didn’t think he would appreciate hearing this and therefore refrained from telling him. He then started asking me what line of work I was in and I told him that I’m a nanny. He replied to this by saying, and I quote, “You’re a nanny? That’s amazing because I’ve been looking for someone to babysit me. This is a happy circumstance because I can get into a lot of trouble.” EW. This has to be at the top of a rather large list of gross things guys have said to me. Like, do you really think I’m going to respond in a positive way to that? Oh yeah, I wanna babysit you. Never. His level of creepo went from about a 4 or 5 to an 8 or 9. That’s a lot of creepo. He said that maybe he was in the wrong line of work (which he stressed was finance, cool bro, don’t care) and he was going to consider becoming a babysitter. “A male nanny, what would you even call that?” A manny sir, it’s not that hard and it is definitely a thing. Luckily at this point his friends whose drinks he had ordered and were still just sitting on the bar started shooting daggers at him and he said he needed to bring the drinks over to them (thank god), but that he would be sure to come back and check on me (excuse me, are you my babysitter sir? Ew, also please don’t ever talk to me again). 

Now I thought that I had exhausted my suitors for the evening and went back to enjoying my night out with friends. No such luck however, The next guy plopped himself down right next to me and introduced himself as the boring geek. Not really, but would that be great if he actually had? No he introduced himself as Bob or Jim  or Ted or one of those boring names and didn’t have a single interesting thing to say. The only common ground we found was that we were both from Virginia, which is all well and good except that usually when I talk to someone I want to talk about more things than the state that I grew up in. Not that I don’t like Virginia but there is a reason why I don’t live there anymore and instead live in NYC. It’s just not that exciting to me at the moment. Exchanging a few words such as “Oh cool, you’re from Virginia, I’m from Virginia too” is about all the time I want to spend on that topic but no, Mr. Virginia kept going at it until I literally wanted to punch him. I didn’t though, don’t worry. Luckily my friends caught on to my distress signals and (not so subtly) drew my attention back towards them and a short while later we headed upstairs for a change in scenery, conveniently avoiding any attempts from Mr. Babysitter to come back and check on me. Dodged a bullet right there. 

The rest of the night proved uneventful and fun in the best of ways, just as it should be when you are out with friends enjoying yourself instead of being accosted by strange men. To the men out there trying to pick up women, first of all I wish you the best of luck. Second of all, don’t be a huge creep. If you are asking yourself right now if you are a creep, bad news, you probably are and should try to avoid creepy situations such as going to bars where you don’t blend in with the average person and standing around by yourself (also scenarios like lurking in dark alleyways and owning windowless vans, but I hope that goes without saying). Third and finally I would say, be prepared to have something interesting and funny to say, if there’s nothing interesting about you, make something up and if you can’t even do that, well even I don’t know what to say. So basically what I’m saying is, if you’re trying to pick up women don’t be a boring creep. Boom. 

I suppose in a sense, when men hit on you it actually is comparable to babysitting. They will annoy the shit out of you but it’s still not polite to tell them to fuck off. Maybe next go around I’ll see if a timeout works. 


Creep TLC: This weeks theme song:


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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