I, cheapskate

As I sometimes do, last night I went to 11 Ives (Ives Street in Danbury, Connecticut), the dance club my friend Lance helps run. As I grow older, I go there with decreasing frequency. It was nice to hang out with the guys, and interesting to see the two attractive female bartenders dance on top of the bar (a la "Coyote Ugly"). Just another night at 11 Ives, though I ran into a type of person I'd never encountered before.

Lance and I were outside, and when he had to take care of something inside, I remained outside so as not to subject my nice clothes to the club's heavy cigarette smoke atmosphere. Then a girl asked me if I was going in. She was semi-attractive, though the stud in her nostril was, to say the least, a big turn-off. No, I truthfully replied. A few minutes later, when I stood next to the club staff at the door, she must have thought I was paying. She tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I would pay for her. I gave her a look and drawled, "Why? Are you underage?"

She said she was "low" (on cash) and asked if I could help her out. I said that I don't pay for strange girls, and then she actually called me a cheapskate! She was still outside a bit later, smoking a cigarette, and was gone by the time I left. Perhaps she really didn't have money for going out, perhaps she did, but if the former, smoking two fewer packs of cigarettes a week would have given her money for the door charge. Once inside, she could ply her trade: (probably) not sex, but getting others to pay for her night out.

Though I'd previously read and heard of her type, I'd never met one before. I was a good "mark" since I was well-dressed and appeared alone. The first means I might have money, and the second means I might be willing to spend money on a girl if I think she likes me. Well, she was only half right. I knew immediately that had I paid for her door charge, she'd have bid me addio and sought her own fun. Then as she needed, she'd prowl the floor for suckers who would buy her a drink, under the misguided belief they can hook up with her.

I related the story to one of my best friends when we went out today for an early dinner. (Frankie & Johnny's Pine in the Bronx. Italian food isn't my favorite, but my friend is Italian, and she suggested this place. Good choice. Our platter of mussels, clams, crab legs, lobster tail and pasta was perhaps a little too spicy, but it was still very flavorful and also huge.) We laughed as I suggested how that girl could have improved her approach. I'm glad my friend found it amusing, because she didn't find my joke while donating blood to be that funny.

The would-be club girl should have given me a plausible sob story: she couldn't find her pocketbook, but if I did her a favor and paid for her, perhaps she could repay me by keeping me company. Or she could have struck up a conversation first, feigning interest; that way, if I ever went inside, it would seem an innocent request that I pay for her so we can continue a good time. She might even get a drink from me inside before having to move on to the next sucker. Next, body contact. She merely came up to me and started talking, which doesn't get a guy's attention. An arm around me, or even just a hand on my waist, would have been far more persuasive than her stupidly point-blank request. It still wouldn't have worked on me, because, again, I flatly refuse to pay for strange girls, but there are other guys who'd fall for it.