Vox Newman

Sometimes I Like to Cock-Block Myself | June 22, 2012

As I was walking from my work at a Toronto club to my car, I passed these two ladies who I presume were waiting for a cab at University and Queen.

Though the pic I’ve included isn’t of them, it’s a close enough approximation.  One of them (the cleavagey one) was holding a long box with a pink ribbon under her arm.

I stopped. “Someone gave you a bouquet?”  (at this point my brain alerted me to the fact that I was inexplicably entering pick-up mode)

She shook her head and smiled. “It’s a body.”

“A corpse.”  Her friend grinned.

I raised my eyebrows and shrugged.  “A baby you mean?”

When they burst out laughing, repeating what I had said, I had two conflicting thoughts: the first was that if this had been a concious plan, my flirting had succeeded in making them laugh which is probably one of the first rules of the pick-up artist bible; a more rational part of me pointed out that discussing a (fictional) dead baby was a poor starting point despite the laughter and would not be likely to result in my getting laid.

I decided to leave on a high-note (debatable) and leave clubland behind.  As I departed I smiled and waved.  “Enjoy your dead baby.”

They’ll probably remember me, which is another rule for pick-up artists, but I wouldn’t say there was any chance that I could claim that “I got game”

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