Since my most recent attempt at pickup was dashed by the target having read Style’s book and my own lack of new, personal material, I was a bit nervous. I walked into the club, chatted up the coat-check girl to get myself into a decent frame. She was nice, smiled a lot, but there was a time constraint (people coming up the stairs), so I quickly ejected. The One is “my” bar, so the bartender, Jay, poured me a glass of Lagavulin as soon as he spotted me, and one of the regular waitresses opened me about the pros and cons of various kinds of scotch. She’s a 5, but pleasant enough to talk to, and lent me social proof all night, which was kind of her.

I moved to my Perch, a lovely leather couch on a raised stage where one might survey the rest of the club, and waited. There are three of them. Mine is the one on the far right, where a table is set up for me to put my scotch down while I observe.

It was still early in the night, and I was one of perhaps ten sets (ranging from solo to ten-sets) at the bar. I enjoyed my scotch.

Scotch is not something one can enjoy with people. It is a solitary pursuit, one that requires a discerning palette and an appreciation for complexity in flavor. For those uninitiated in the enjoyment of scotch, I present to you “Monkey’s Quick-Start Guide to Scotch Appreciation.”

MONKEY’S QUICK-START GUIDE TO SCOTCH APPRECIATION

First and foremost, scotch must be appreciated on its own. It should not be mixed with anything in a bar environment, and should not be served On the Rocks. Water (what ice becomes as it melts) dilutes the flavor of the drink and provides it a strange texture. At home, you may add exactly one teaspoon of water per shot of liquor, and only so that you may better appreciate the aroma. More dilutes the scotch irreparably; less has no discernable effect.
Before you take your first sip, take the time to appreciate the aroma of the scotch. Each scotch has its own unique scent. As the vast majority of our taste sensations are actually derived from smell, you can get a better idea of which parts of the flavor come from the drink’s scent. Also, it smells good. A properly aged scotch has a pungent, spicy scent, not unlike nutmeg and cinnamon, with an underlying alcoholic aroma. Improperly aged scotch smells like alcohol mixed liberally with ass.
Take a small sip. Take the time to move the scotch around your mouth for a bit, touching each part of your tongue. Every part of your tongue experiences taste differently, so it is important to coat your entire mouth with scotch before swallowing. After you finally swallow the scotch, let the drink sit for a moment in your stomach before taking another sip. Notice and appreciate the warmth in your chest and stomach. Notice how closely those feelings relate to the sensation of apprehension and fear you first feel on approaching a new set. Scotch drinkers love that sensation.
For first-time scotch drinkers, I suggest the House Scotch, whatever the House Scotch happens to be. When you’ve grown accustomed to the taste (and the strength of the drink), upgrade to a Glenfiddich, a Glenlivet or a Lagavulin. The longer it’s aged, the better the scotch will be, so don’t be worried if you’re paying out the nose for a bottle of thirty-year-old hootch.
I’ve also recently be initiated into the world of brandy. Brandy has a very sharp spice at the tip of the tongue that evaporates into a fruity lightness as one spreads it around the mouth. I think I am quite in love with the waitress (the five previously mentioned) if for no other reason but her expansive knowledge of booze.

A five-set walks in the door. I ignore them, but I recognize that the Game is afoot. A large set of girls brings guys into the club. A full club attracts more girls. I also noticed a slightly peacocked dude sitting by himself and made a mental note that he may be on the hunt, or he may just be by himself with no one to talk to. Perhaps a cockblocker, perhaps a potential wing.

I take a walkabout. This is one of my favorite surveying techniques in a full club; just walk around bobbing to the music, all by yourself, and look at everyone you see. Make mental notes about possible sets, say hi to waitresses and bartenders, and then go back to what you were doing. I tend to stay away from sets larger than three, as I usually fly solo and trying to isolate in a group any larger can be… interesting. There are a couple of four-sets, a five set, and a bunch of guys. I’ll have to wait for a bit, but first my potential wing.

MONKEY: Are you running game tonight, or just sitting by yourself?
MYTH: Running game?
MONKEY: Trying to pick up chicks.
MYTH: Um. Well I’m new to Edmonton. I don’t really know anybody, and this is the first weekend I’ve had off in ages, and I don’t really go out to bars, and I’m from a small town…

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. If I’d known I was going to get a life-story, I wouldn’t have approached. Still, the boy proved useful if only for providing social proof. A waitress approached us, drink-tray full of shots.

SHOOTERGIRL: You guys ok here?
MYTH: I’m fine.
MONKEY: I’m doing great. How are _you_?

She sets her tray on our table and cocks her head to one side. Ah. When asking this simple question, stress the importance of the person asked, not her state. Asking “How _are_ you,” is the common stress; “How are _you_?” is much more powerful.

SHOOTERGIRL: I’m alright I guess.
MONKEY: Just alright?
SHOOTERGIRL: Yeah. I guess.
MONKEY: On a scale of one to ten, where would you say you are?
SHOOTERGIRL: About a six.
MONKEY: Really? Just a six? Must be a rough night.
SHOOTERGIRL: No, not really. Just boring.
MONKEY: What could I do for you that would make your night a ten?
SHOOTERGIRL: Um… It would involve massage oil and a backrub.
MONKEY: I can arrange that.
SHOOTERGIRL: And eggs benedict would have to be in there somewhere too.
MONKEY: I’m a great cook.
SHOOTERGIRL: And someone would have to vacuum my house, in a leopard Speedo.
MONKEY: Whoa there, girlie. Let’s not get greedy. How about my boxers?
SHOOTERGIRL: Are they leopard boxers?
MONKEY: I don’t know. Let me check. (I already know what my boxers look like, but I check anyway.) Nope, kind of stripy.
SHOOTERGIRL: Stripy?
MONKEY: Yeah. With stripes.
SHOOTERGIRL: I guess they’ll do.
MONKEY: I’m Monkey.
SHOOTERGIRL: Um… Shootergirl…

She actually said that. “Shootergirl.” And then she walked away, smiling. I knew I could have had tried better game, made myself less available, negged a bit, but I didn’t want to have to wait until three or four to close, so waitresses were off my list for the night. Besides, she was fun, and I winked at her a few minutes later.

MYTH: That was smooth.
MONKEY: (Knowing there was nothing smooth about it at all) Game at its finest. I guess you can wing for me tonight.

So we head back into the rest of the bar, and I can see it’s starting to pick up a bit. A hot three-set by the SPAM, a cute solo sitting by the dance floor, a two-set at the bar and a bunch of AFC dudes had come in, and were milling about. I sent Myth in on the three-set with the My Little Pony opener, and suggesting the “If I wasn’t gay” hook. He opens well, sidling up from ten-o’clock, and they talk for a while. Then he lets the conversation die, and they go their separate ways. He didn’t use the gay hook, but he had a nice little conversation with them, and as he’s a self-proclaimed shy guy, I figure it is progress. Every approach counts.

I approach the next set, the cute solo by the dance floor. She looked like a nine, a tiny Asian chick with red streaks in her hair. I sidled up to her, looked her in the eye, said “Hi. What’s your favorite dinosaur?” and had to high-tail it out of there. Her teeth were so disgusting I could not force myself to look at them for more than two minutes. I was nice. I was polite. I even joked with her, but there was no way I was going to number-close a girl with hideous tooth decay.

I don’t really have a lot of room to talk. I have had some trouble with dental hygiene in the past. I recently spent three thousand dollars getting my mouth fixed to a point where it’s presentable. Fourteen cavities, three extractions and a root canal later, I can actually smile at girls again. The experience has only heightened my appreciation for a pretty mouth, though, so I gave her a “it was a pleasure meeting you,” and skedaddled.

Back at the couch, with my new wing in tow, I spotted a decent two-set and set Myth after them. He didn’t want to approach anyone, though, so I went after them myself. One was an enormous young lady of girth equal to my height. The other was an HB8 with dark skin, and a lovely smile.

MONKEY: Wondering if you ladies could settle a debate for me.
GIRLS: Sure.
MONKEY: Do you guys believe that magic spells work?
GIRTH: No.
HB8: Yes.
MONKEY: (At Girth) Why not?
GIRTH: I’ve never seen any evidence.
HB8: (She leans in, establishing Kino before I’m halfway through the opener…) You have to believe in something bigger than blah, blah, blah.
MONKEY: (At Girth) I’m starting to see it her way. Blah, blah, story about my wing and some girl, blah, blah. So yeah, it’s weird. I want to tell him something to reassure him, but I don’t really know how I feel about it.
GIRTH: He’s just freaked out, is all.
HB8: (Leaning in, Kino again) I think so too. He’s just freaked out. That would be weird though, eh? Someone just walking up and saying “I cast a spell on you…” I’d be freaked out. She’s psycho.
MONKEY: So why are you guys sitting? I saw you dancing in your seats ten seconds ago.
HB8: We don’t like this song, this techno bullshit. It’s alright if you’re high, but not when you’re just drunk.
MONKEY: Agreed. I’m a hip-hop fan, myself. It makes me feel like life can still be an adventure, that there are things I haven’t done yet, and some day I will.
HB8: I LOVE hip-hop. Fifty-cent is like, God.
MONKEY: Fifty-cent?
HB8: Yeah! Fifty-cent!
MONKEY: (To GIRTH) Has she always had bad taste in hip-hop artists?
GIRTH: Yeah. She likes Eminem, too.
MONKEY: Eminem I can understand. The man can spit. But Fifty-cent’s just a marketing gimmick.
HB8: You’re kind of cute.
MONKEY: You’re kind of drunk.

I decide I’ve got strong enough rapport with the both of them that I can simultaneously cube them both. I do so, and they are both floored by my personality-reading skills. Then that new Justin Timberlake song comes on, and they both run out to dance. I head back up to the couch to talk to Myth, gain social proof, pass some time and drink my scotch. About ten minutes pass, which is apparently enough time for the girls to get tired of dancing (I’m surprised Girth lasted that long) and come up to another couch. I notice, and shift positions, re-opening by simply pointing my fingers at them and letting the conversation take over. I start in a chair, but eventually gain enough confidence to move Girth’s purse and sit between them, effectively isolating while keeping Girth occupied. I’d tried to get my new wing to help out on that accord, but he really is a shy guy and doesn’t want to. Whatever.

I chat with the both of them, fluff mostly. I look down at HB8 and see her tracing her inner elbow with her fingers.

MONKEY: Why are you tracing your elbow?
HB8: Because it feels nice. ^_^

I start tracing my fingers along the inner part of her arm. Ah.
I know, by basic instincts, that this is the time I should go for the kiss close, but I choke. She’s attracted, she’s been initiating Kino all night, we’re engaged in an activity that is specifically erotic in nature, and I choke.

So I leave the bar. It’s been a good night overall, with some strong interaction, a bit of fun touching, the meeting of a new, though as yet utterly inept, wing, and some good scotch. Maybe next week I’ll actually work up the nerve to utter those simple words: “Would you like to kiss me?”