“Wow! You’re hot!,” he says, obviously slap-on-your-ass plastered.

“I know,” purring Cheshirely.

A cold front of douchebaggery is passing through Shorty’s on Wednesday night and I’m just here to play pins. Intoxicated people gob against the bar like scum on a sea of empties flooding every surface available. This is the tail end of a big party I didn’t mind missing. A quick nod to the bartender secures my drink and I beeline for the game room. The change machine is winking orange and NOPE is taped across the dollar slot. Awesome. I didn’t plan to mess with quarters tonight. There’s a story behind that NOPE and it means they don’t care if this crowd is able to play pinball. I treat it as such. Eagerly feeding a $5 bill into Safecracker, I know this makes it mine for the rest of the night.

Mr. Obvious intercepts me just before I hit start, laying down that smooth opening line. He’s smiling like someone that wants to suck my cock and, sporting Sinead O’Connor chic, my aloof response reads as flirting for a guy this drunk. Silently deciding, if he can hold my interest through one game I’ll consider taking him seriously. I hit start and the machine chirps to life with Candy’s suggestive female voice – CANDY 2000 SECURITY SYSTEM ONLINE. Obvious exclaims, “Whoa! You know how to play this?”

“Yup,” I say tersely, dropping my gaze on the bouncing silver ball. His over-zealous reaction does not bode well. He goes through a barrage of play-by-play of nonsensical vocalizations. “Wow! Yikes! Geez! Look ou-oh man!” It’s clear he has no idea what going on as his utterances gain intensity. Each time the ball drains he apologizes for messing me up. I laugh and keep playing. Once, he jumps back so violently his Cincinnati Reds cap falls onto the glass. More apologies, while I laugh so hard I can’t play. Safecracker is my favorite game because she’s a forgiving mistress, but that’s more information than Obvious needs right now.

The round goes on for over five minutes. An eternity for pinball. Eventually, Obvious is all tuckered out and his efforts to feign interest wan. Too little, too late he tries a different tact. Leaning back and using nonchalant chit-chat, he apparently want to steal my attention from the game with his natural charm. Turns out I’m amazingly good at fielding his half-assed conversation without missing a beat. His determination to seal my deal is admirable if not untenable. My fleeting thoughts of humoring this guy’s advances have morphed into looking around the room for backup.

Pinball game close to its end, I start brainstorming ways to maneuver Obvious into a forced retreat. I could take him outside to smoke a bowl and just tell him not to come back inside. But then I’d feel obligated to actual share my weed, so no. I consider the cat and mouse method. Start asking questions that might make him uncomfortable, “Are you into pegging?” That’s a gamble because he might be interested. He’s hitting on a weirdo like me after all. While I’m deliberating, one of Obvious’s buddies walks up and garbles, “Hey man, we gotta go!”

“Not now,” Obvious gestures to me, “I’m into something!”

“We gotta go. Bro’s been 86’d,” Buddy shouts in explanation. My ears perk up.

“Where are you going?” Obvious begins, saying he’ll catch up when he’s “done here.” I see my opening and dive through it.

Without looking up from the board I yell, “You should go with them!”

“Huh?” apparently not aware I was listening to the conversation.

Still slapping the flippers, desperately trying to keep my ball in play, I repeat, “GO WITH THEM!”

He leans toward me and says, “But I want to get to know you better,” emphasis on the get-to-know.

Sighing, I stop playing, turn my entire body to face him and, looking into his face, enunciate, “GO. WITH. THEM.” pointing in the direction of the exit.

His face splits into a shit-eating grin.

“Dude,” I chide firmly, “If your buddy got 86’d, you have no chance with me.” Spoken as the fact it is.

“Who’s 86’d?” He plays. Clearly not getting that I can hear other people talk.

At this point I roll my eyes and go back to the Safecracker game that is miraculously still not over. Next to me, he starts to settle in again and I get annoyed. “Seriously man, go away,” using my deeper, I’ll-kick-your-ass voice.

Disappointment crawls across his face as my words sink in, followed immediately by anger. My sudden change in demeanor has caught him off guard and I can practically hear his ego bruise at the shock of getting turned down by a bald chick. I try to reason with him, “Look, how old are you? Twenty-two, twenty-three?”

“Twenty-eight,” he states defensively, not smiling anymore.

“Great, then you will believe me when I say you have no chance with me. Now go away before I have to get someone,” spoken without breaking eye contact.

“Oh,” puffing his chest, “it’s like that then.”

“Yeah,” still staring, still smiling, “it is.”

Starting to walk away he turns and gestures pleadingly,”But, you’re so hot!”

“I know,” I assure him, “Now go away.”

He leaves and I turn back to my game just in time to see the sudden death ball drain down the gutter. One point seven million and some change. Not a bad showing for my first game of the night. I seem to always play better under pressure.