The Dating Game
In
the Culture of Character men pursuing the opposite sex were expected to
display a quiet sense of power and self control that did not need to
flaunt itself. Shyness was, as always, unacceptable, but reserve was an
indication of good breeding.
“.
. . . with the advent of the Culture of Personality, the value of
formality began to crumble, for women and men alike. Instead of paying
ceremonial calls on women and making serious declarations of intention,
men were now expected to launch verbally sophisticated courtships in
which they threw women “a line” of elaborate flirtatiousness. Men who
were too quiet around women risked being thought gay; as a popular 1926
sex guide observed, “homosexuals are invariably timid, shy retiring.”
Excerpt from, Quiet – by Susan Cain
The game was rigged for extroverts before I got a chance to play.
* * *
A
flock of years ago (when I was young) I was working a contract job as a
design draftsman for Chevron on the twentieth floor of their building
in the Financial District, downtown San Francisco. It was nineteen sixty
something.
Chevron Bldg – 575 Market Street
I
was between girl friends, sorely in need, and not doing well at finding
one. One day, after work I decided to try a popular cocktail lounge off
Market Street. It was a white shirt, tie and sport coat sort of place,
not really my bag, and expensive. But I was dressed for the occasion as
Chevron had a similar dress code.
It
was a nice place, extravagantly decorated with plants and paintings,
almost formal – very San Francisco. I took a seat at the rather elegant
bar, one stool between myself and a nice looking female my age who gave
me an encouraging smile as I ordered a Beefeater martini. It arrived and
was followed by a large plate of h’orderves, little meatballs swimming
in some kind of sauce. It was accompanied by a small glass holding
toothpicks to retrieve the snacks with, but I declined in fear of
dripping on my shirt, or the bar. My objective was the seemingly
available young lady who looked to be twenty something. I was doing my
best at making small talk with her, and she seemed reasonably interested
with my efforts until this guy walks in.
He
immediately bounced into the vacant stool between us and turned his
back to me, successfully blocking any further conversation between
myself and my quest. He was what Author Jim would call a competitive
conversationalist, and began nonstop from the moment he landed, making
any further attempt at conversation by myself impossible.
He
never shut up! It was amazing, a veritable blitz of bullshit. I ordered
another drink and watched him making his move which looked like it was
going well, or at least he was holding her attention. This was by far
not the first time something like this had happened to me, and by the
time I had finished the second martini I was totally pissed. But there
was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Then . . . it was the gin I
guess. I wasn’t me at all who lifted up the plate of meatballs and
dumped the whole thing onto the guy’s lap. There was total silence for a
moment. It was like the world stopped turning.
Time
was frozen and I didn’t wait for it to thaw. There was no single word
or sound before I made it to the door, which was only a few yards away,
and out onto the street. I ran like hell, zigzaging though the blocks,
and back to Market Street where I caught a bus, laughing hysterically
all the way home. It was an introvert’s revenge, a rotten thing to do, I
guess. But God it felt good! I confess to having never regretted it,
and to this day would give anything to know what happened after I left.
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