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Here we go again. — m4w — 22 (Downtown)

Date: 2010-01-12, 11:55AM MST
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So a couple of weeks ago a put up a post regar­ding the eti­qu­ette of inter­se­xual drink-buying at bars. Lo and behold, this past week­end a friend of mine got bur­ned at the tav by fal­ling for the exact trap that my post war­ned aga­inst. Accor­din­gly, I felt com­pel­led to repost for the bene­fit of all the beau­ti­ful women in Salt Lake who don’t want to scroll all the way down to find the ori­gi­nal post. This may be redun­dant, but I can­not in good con­science let this phe­no­me­non go over­lo­oked. So here it is again: Why I didn’t Buy You a Drink.

You: Cute girl at the bar.
Me: The guy you chat­ted with while waiting for our drinks.
The Topic: Why I didn’t buy you a drink.
The Audience: Women eve­ry­where, ple­ase read this. I know it’s long, but I feel the length is expe­dient to truly illu­stra­ting and argu­ing my point.

I was waiting to order right as things were get­ting crazy. It was obvious that it would be a long wait. What can I say? I can’t com­pete with all the douches yel­ling for jager bombs. It was then that you appe­ared. A cute, petite, sli­gh­tly hipster-ish girl stan­ding next to me, waiting to order as well. The conver­sa­tion began in the typi­cal man­ner, sim­ply rela­ting on how fru­stra­ting it is when you spend half a night out just waiting for a drink. It then evo­lved into a true conver­sa­tion. I spent the next twenty minu­tes fin­ding out you have great taste in music, movies and lite­ra­ture. You lau­ghed at my jokes, and that’s a big deal to average-looking guys like me.
Unfor­tu­na­tely, after we’d both fini­shed our respec­tive drinks, but were still immer­sed in discus­sion, you drop­ped a bomb that sent shrap­nel into my heart.

“So are you gonna buy me a drink or what?

I had been dre­ading this moment. I’ve lear­ned from hard expe­rience that any pro­lon­ged conver­sa­tion with a girl at a club or a bar ine­vi­ta­bly requ­ires a fee of rum and coke, vodka tonic, or God for­bid, a cosmo. As cute as you were, I felt obli­ga­ted to retain my self-respect.

“Sorry, I don’t buy girls drinks. Just kind of my policy.

You looked at me like I told you I was going to rape your dog Char­lie (yes, I remem­ber his name). Your face mor­phed from a beau­ti­ful smile into a twi­sted cari­ca­ture of shock, revul­sion, and utter disbelief.

“Serio­usly, you’re not gonna buy me a drink? What’s your problem?

Well swe­ethe­art, let me explain to you in detail my logic regar­ding this deci­sion that you found so unbelievable:

1. I’ve been going to bars for a couple of years now. I enjoy meeting people when I do. I enjoy meeting attrac­tive girls like your­self. I have, howe­ver, lear­ned that buy­ing girls drinks is a sucker’s game. Yes, it has deve­lo­ped into sha­ring my bed for the night a couple times, but 90% of the time, all it does is give me a higher bar tab. Now you might say I’m a prick for expec­ting a girl to sleep with me just because I buy her a drink. I agree an $8 cock­tail does not and sho­uld not equal a sexual enco­un­ter. Howe­ver, I believe spen­ding time and money on a girl when I could be having a good night out with my friends does enti­tle me at least one of the fol­lo­wing things: You reci­pro­ca­ting by buy­ing me a drink, you giving me your phone num­ber and/or going out on a date with me, where once again I will be spen­ding time and money on you. Notice that sex is not a requ­ire­ment or expec­ta­tion that is coupled with any of these options. Now, of course, if I had offe­red to buy you a drink, and you accep­ted, you are not obli­ga­ted to any of these things. The big distinc­tion here is that you asked me to buy you a drink, and were shoc­ked that I wouldn’t do so. This brings me to my second point.

2. You know exac­tly what you’re doing. You’re an attrac­tive girl, and when you go out there is no shor­tage of guys offe­ring to buy you drinks. You know that they are all doing so with the hope that it will lead to sex with you. You know that it’s not going to hap­pen, but you will accept the free drinks any­way. I don’t hold this aga­inst you. If they’re dumb eno­ugh to think that buy­ing you a drink is the key to your heart and that they are some­how dif­fe­rent from the other Ed Hardy-wearing frat-bros then it’s their own damn fault. You’re using your god-given assets to get free alco­hol, nothing wrong with that. But it is pre­ci­sely because I know that you do this that I will not be ano­ther douche who thinks he can get into your pants with a mixed drink. It’s insul­ting to my dignity as a man and your honor as a woman. I noti­ced you when you first wal­ked in. I saw you dan­cing with that hope­less collar-popper. I saw him go to the bar and bring a drink back to you on the dan­ce­floor. I saw how the second the glass was in your hand, you gave him the “Thanks for the drink, it was really nice meeting you tre­at­ment com­plete with the obli­ga­tory pat on the chest. I saw the pathe­tic, defe­ated look on his face as you wal­ked away. He will enter the next round of bar hop­ping a lit­tle wiser I hope.

3. You took my unwil­lin­gness to fall into such a trap as an insult. You accu­sed me of being stuck-up. You then said that I had a chance at fuc­king you, but that I’d ruined it by being an asshole. What exac­tly are you try­ing to tell me? That the asi­nine idea that get­ting a girl a drink will get you in her pants is actu­ally true? That your deci­sion of whe­ther or not to sleep with a guy is based on him liqu­oring you up? We had a good conver­sa­tion, and maybe you were actu­ally inte­re­sted in me. But the fact that any rap­port we built was destroyed when I wouldn’t buy you a gin and tonic means that I am no lon­ger inte­re­sted in you. Not all guys are despe­rate sperm donors. Some of us actu­ally value a good conver­sa­tion, and we value girls who have eno­ugh respect for them­se­lves that they don’t view sex as a transaction.

4. We esta­bli­shed during our conver­sa­tion that we are both broke-ass fine arts stu­dents. Why then would you expect that I, some­one who sha­res your finan­cial woes, would want to spend money on you, a girl I just met? I don’t believe that chi­valry is dead. I’ll hold a door for you, I’ll pull out your chair or take your coat. I’ll help you change a flat tire, carry you over deep pud­dles, figure out the remote, reset your modem. I’ll even help you move when I know you a lit­tle bet­ter. Why? Because I’m a gen­tle­man. I will not, howe­ver, buy you a drink under the pre­tense that it is what a gen­tle­man does, because I sim­ply can­not afford it. If you want a guy who can afford to buy you wha­te­ver you want, find a fifty year-old sugar daddy. There was no shor­tage of poten­tials at the bar the other night.

I hope this illu­stra­ted my thought-process cle­arly eno­ugh. I hope you realize that you seemed ama­zing at first, and that dec­li­ning to buy you a drink was in no way an insult. Your reac­tion, howe­ver, reve­aled the self-entitled, game-playing she-devil that was lur­king under­ne­ath. I thank god for the out that he pro­vi­ded at that moment tho­ugh. Just after you fini­shed your lit­tle rant on what I dick I was for not boozing you up, a group of girls emer­ged at the bar right behind you. Two of these girls were thin and pretty. They imme­dia­tely got the atten­tion of some bros and had free drinks within minu­tes. The third girl was over­we­ight and out of place. She had cle­arly spent a great deal of time and effort on her appe­arance, but alas, she was once again for­sa­ken by her pret­tier friends and left to stand by her­self, looking mise­ra­ble. Luc­kily, I know when the uni­verse has given me a pro­fo­und gift. There were two incre­di­ble moments that fil­led me with an ela­tion that could not be riva­led by the orgasm I would have had while fuc­king you. The first was the sin­cere, exci­ted smile that the chubby girl gave me when I moved past you and asked what she wan­ted to drink. The second was tur­ning back and seeing the look of hor­ror on your face. You pathe­tic “have fun with the fatty remark as you wal­ked away was pri­ce­less. I may be broke, but I was wil­ling to go into the red to make this girl’s night and to piss you off. I’m sure as soon as you left you got plenty of free drinks and plenty of idiots dro­oling over you. I just hope that I got under your skin eno­ugh to pre­vent any enjoy­ment of those things.

I had a great night. I intro­du­ced the big girl to an open-minded friend, and as I write this they are across the hall having loud sex. Nor­mally going to bed alone, sub­jec­ted to the sounds of rau­cous love­ma­king across the hall would be a serious downer. But toni­ght, as I crawl into my lonely bed, I will go to sleep com­for­ted by the fact that I have reta­ined my self-respect. Having enco­un­te­red more than a few spo­iled bim­bos, I infer that sex with you would have con­si­sted of you lying on your back expec­ting me to be so gra­te­ful that I’m seeing your “hot naked bod makes up for the fact that you are put­ting abso­lu­tely no effort into this sexual expe­rience. This may just be me try­ing to justify going to bed alone toni­ght, but hey, what can you do?

The moral: Ladies, accept drinks if they are offe­red. Do not expect them. And if you’re feeling par­ti­cu­larly wild on a given night, offer to buy the guy a drink. He will be instan­tly smitten.

Loca­tion: Down­town
it’s NOT ok to con­tact this poster with servi­ces or other com­mer­cial inte­re­sts
Post­in­gID: 1549320166

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