People have become remarkably creative about letting someone know they’re interested without ever having to admit it.
A woman might walk past the same guy three times in a bar, each time finding a slightly less convincing reason to be on that side of the room. By the third trip, she’s practically conducting a building inspection, and the guy is still trying to figure out whether she’s interested or just having trouble finding her friends.
Meanwhile, he has his own little routine. He’ll move closer, order another drink he doesn’t particularly want, and spend an unreasonable amount of time pretending to watch the football game, even though he doesn’t like sports. If she looks over, he looks away. If he looks over, she’s suddenly deep in conversation with somebody else.
Neither one thinks they’re being particularly subtle, but neither knows what the other one is seeing. She might go home convinced she gave him every opportunity to approach her, while he tells his friends there wasn’t shit out there because nobody gave him the green light.
Everybody seems to have a different idea of what counts as a signal. Some people think a smile is enough, while others expect eye contact that lasts long enough to remove all doubt. How long is that supposed to be? Too short, and she might miss it. Too long, and she’s probably wondering whether she knows you from somewhere or owes you money.
I’ve been out with guys who thought every woman in the place was checking them out. A woman could glance in our direction, and somebody would swear she’d been staring at him all night. Another guy would insist she was looking at him, and before long you’ve got two grown men arguing over a woman who hasn’t spoken to either one of them.
Neither one would go talk to her. They’d just keep watching to see who she looked at next, like somebody was keeping score.
I’ve seen guys spend an entire evening talking to strangers, making everybody laugh, and carrying on conversations without giving it a second thought. Then a woman they’re actually interested in comes over, and suddenly you can’t get more than three words out of them.
Eventually, she comes back to the bar for another drink and ends up standing beside him. The bartender is busy, so they’re both waiting, close enough to talk for the first time all evening.
She looks up at the television and asks who’s winning. He’s been watching the game for most of half an hour, but somehow this is the first time he’s had any reason to look at the score.
He tells her who’s ahead, and she asks whether he’s a fan. He admits he doesn’t really follow football. She laughs and tells him she doesn’t either. They both look back at the television for a moment.
He asks whether she’s waiting for a drink. She says yes, and he nods like that answers something he’d been wondering about. Then he looks back at the television, which has suddenly become very interesting again. The bartender finally comes over.
She takes her drink and heads back toward her friends. He watches her leave, probably wondering whether that was supposed to mean something.
A little later, another guy starts talking to her near the bar. She laughs at something he says, and when the first guy looks over again a few minutes later, they’re still talking. He turns back toward the football game. He still doesn’t know who’s winning.
And now he’s convinced she was never interested.
