There were two things that should've immediately signaled to me that a supermarket-based singles night was not a good idea: A bumpin' DJ was spinning hot Top-40 hits and telling all singles present to put their arms in the air and wave them 'round like they just don't care; second, a line of men stood alone next to a deli case of specialty cheeses; and the fact remained that I was actually going to a singles night on a Friday.
It wasn't like I had plans for that Friday. I hadn't had a date in—one second, I have to calculate—two years and three months. I didn't really know why—it could be that I tend to say all the wrong things when talking to attractive people. It could also be that I have the occasional misfire when it comes to flirting. But, it's probably because I have no clue what I'm doing. I haven't had a clue since seventh grade.
I told myself I was going for the free samples and to see if there were any deals on ""single"" food (frozen pizzas, six packs, TV dinners). Secretly, I was kind of hoping that a supermarket full of clearly eligible men would give me a place to observe flirting in the field, pick up some tips and try to do it myself.
In the market, men in cargo khaki shorts and plaid, button-down shirts leaned awkwardly against the seafood case and made small talk. Average age: 43. A few were noticeably more confident—they usually had large, Ed Hoculi-esque biceps and were wearing clingy shirts, unbuttoned just low enough so that tufts of chest hair were exposed to seduce any female.
Most looked scared.
The women were notably younger, traveled in packs and consumed most of the free samples. Their hair was done—and it was real, although the tans were not—and for the most part, they did not exude the desperation of the men. There were still some in too-short skirts with loud red lips and big hair, but they all confidently maneuvered around the store.
Yet, no one mingled. I hadn't seen something like this since my first middle school dance. Men were in the meat and seafood sections, women in produce and lots of agitated event planners running around with clipboards between the two groups.
I was going to be proactive. Spotting a cute boy who clearly was no older than 23, I made eye contact and coyly bit into my free sample of baked brie. It fell apart and landed on the ground. I tried to kick it under the deli counter, only to encounter another obstruction—an old man in a toupee.
""Did you lose something?"" he asked me.
""Um, no. What I did was, well, this brie is really good."" I could hear myself talking, and I wanted it to stop.
""Did you know that it won first place at the state fair? The cart doesn't say that. I just know that.""
He laughed and adjusted his hair. ""How old are you?""
""21.""
""Oh. Well, goodnight.""
He walked away. I later saw him leaving with one of the miniskirted women. At least that one wasn't my fault.
I tried again, but just as I was about to go up to a nice-looking, college-aged boy in a blue T-shirt, two women swooped in, glared at me and escorted him to the frozen food section. With his departure, there were about three attractive men left. I did a lap around the grocery store (I didn't think I had hit all the free samples yet) and decided to leave—I didn't like having a deli meat slicer shave away my self-respect.
