Bartenders and biz cards...

Prelude:
So my roomate's boyfriend sent me a link to a NY times article (I think I posted a while back) about this new concept of "dating business cards." Basically, you order this deck of cards that come with all different kinds of one liners from the noncommital "hi." to the confident, "this card could change your life." On the bottom of the card it says "find me@" and then has a code on cheekd.com where the unsuspecting recipient can find you.

Genius. You can be fun and flirty without having to feel too forward since it's not your actual information. And also makes the guy (or girl) do a little work so you know if they are actually somewhat interested.

Story:
Enter yesterday. First of all, I got a package last week that I forgot to pick up. So for the last several days there has been a package waiting for me in the center of the mail room table (that the entire 650 person agency uses) with a large "you've been cheek'd. 50 card deck." with my name on it. Awesome. (Especially after my boss once told my co-worker he thought I would find someone if I wasn't trying so hard.)

Fast forward to dinner with one of my out of town friends and her best friend from college. Let's call them both: Stacy. (This makes sense bc their names are in fact, both Stacy.) I tell them about all the recent escapades and my new pathtic attempt to get out of 0-4 on the leaderboard and they are loving it. So much so that they make me show them (read spread out) all the business cards at our dinner table.

They've decided that I have to give away my first card before we leave. As we scan the place it's not looking good. Final verdict? The bartender.

I mean he's cute, but the bartender? Sure, he may have moves but I'd like to keep them focused on the task that counts, my martini.

Needless to say, I lost this battle and we make our way out the door with 'Mission tag the bartender." For anyone who knows the Leon story, it went in a pretty similar fashion. I went left, he went right. I tried to catch him on the right, he went left. This was getting ugly.

Finally one of the Stacy's taps him on the shoulder and says "where's the bathroom" (as it was literally behind us with a giant sign) he points and tries to turn around and then I try to hand him this card. He kind of looks at me, looks at the card with a blank expression. I gesture again, trying to hand him the card and he, somewhat reluctantly, somewhat confused, takes it.

In theory this is where someone with game might say something smooth as they exit, but I've learned my lesson the hard way so I awkwardly turn and bolt out the door. And Forrest Gump style just keep going.

BT dubbs, didn't mention that I looked like a lesbian softball coach. Yep, cargo shorts (now typing that im like, wait why do i OWN those?), double tank top, sneakers and an elastic headband.

How could my friends let me out like this?

The worst is that it's my favorite neighborhood spot. So much for trying to become the mayor on foursquare.