Playing Wingman for Operation Crush

Friday night I went out with Red and commenced in total debauchery (not really but beer was involved). Red has a crush and I agreed to play wingman/stalker for the night. She knew which bar was his weekend hangout so I agreed to go with her to have a beer and offer moral support.

We arrive at the restaurant/bar and the parking lot is packed! Among the cars Red spots her crushes vehicle. I stick out my hand for a high-five at the so far success of the night.

I spoke to soon. We enter the bar and it is dead.

Dead.

Except the occasional bar-flies -- you know the people that never seem to go home.

We are already in so we decide to go ahead and have a beer. We take seats at the bar and laugh at the failure of our simple mission. Red and I talk amongst ourselves and, not knowing anyone else, try to avoid making eye contact with the creepy dude lingering close by.

Why must there always be a creeper?

And why must I always feel sorry for the creeper and tell myself that he's probably a nice guy....... Sometimes my over optimistic quality can be seen as plain crazy.

I drink my beer fast thinking the quicker I make it disappear the quicker we can get the heck out of dodge.

Red lights her second cigarette and her eyes light up as she glances over my shoulder.

I don't even have to turn and look. I know that her crush has arrived. I slow my beer intake, setting my glass back down on the bar.

He approaches and engages Red in conversation. At this point others we know arrive and my bar stool is quickly surround by girls that I wouldn't classify as friends but more along the lines of acquaintances.

There reaches a point in any night out when you know its time to go. Maybe its something in the atmosphere or maybe it was the drunk girl hitting on the acquaintances husband - either way you know its time to go.

Red and I pay our tab and leave.

Operation Crush a success.