Dance Fucker, Dance

I’m a guy in my 20s and I don’t flirt. I’m not one of those guys who can come up and deliver a pick-up line with a straight face, or ask a girl out. I get way too embarrassed and blushy. For whatever reason, I have this irrational fear that someone should think I’m hitting on them.So I just don’t flirt. EVER.

Anyways, I was staying with my mom for the weekend and she asked me to go get groceries for dinner, as she had just gotten back from work and was exhausted. I was happy to do it as she was buying. No big deal right? WRONG, BUT WHO COULD FORESEE WHAT WAS TO COME?

So I drive to the market, collect the groceries, and pretty soon I’m looking to check out. I get in the only checkout lane available and immediately see that the cashier is very…very pretty. Too pretty for me to handle. I quickly whip around in search of another lane open, but there were none. I gather myself and think,‘YOU CAN DO THIS. DO IT FOR YOUR MOTHER.’

So accepting my fate, I strategize the most plain and standard transaction possible between her and me. ‘Stick to what you know’ I thought to myself.

Before long it was my time to shine. I presented her with my groceries for scanning and proceeded to fumble around with my wallet (this was pretty much the entire plan). All was going extremely well and we were even getting along with enthusiastic dialogue such as (her:) “Did you find everything ok?” and (me:) “Yes”. Then she hit me with a question that, in my calculated strategy, I had forgotten to plan for…

“Do you have an express card with us that you’d like to use?”

“No, but I have a phone number for one” is what I found myself saying. It was an instinctive, reactionary response. I gave her my phone number while still absent-mindedly fiddling with my wallet.

A moment passed.

“…I’m sorry sir, that phone number isn’t coming up in our system…”

My mind clicked. Not my phone number, my mom’s phone number. My mother. My mothers credit card. I was about to present a woman’s credit card after trying to get a discount with a wrong number. ‘This looks really bad’ I thought to myself.

So I turned to her, as casually as humanly possible, and said,“Oh, that’s my cell phone number”

This pause was longer, so long I looked up, and in her face I saw the comprehension. In her mind, I just pulled the smoothest shit in the history of shit. I was the coolest of cool in her eyes: giving her my phone number in the slyest of ways. She started to smile and this is when I realized what I’d done. She looked at me realizing how cool I was and I looked at her realizing how cool she thought I was.

Obviously, like all smooth people, I freaked the fuck out.

“OH, NO, IM SORRY DON’T USE THAT NUMBER, YOU… I HAVE ANOTHER NUMBER, NOT MINE, MY MOMS, I HAVE A MOM.”

tarynel:

bwwwssssshhhhhhhhh:

NO

He saw Jesus.

Who’s Alex?

English-speaking readers’ line of sight goes from left to right and up to down. This ad leads the viewer from the words MEET ALEX etc straight to the boy and then over and down to the girl. I didn’t even notice there was a set of parenthesis with words in them in the ad until I looked the fourth time. 

This is a fallacious confirmation bias, as anyone looking at it will assume Alex is the focal point (i.e. The Boy) and then if they’re perceptive they’ll notice the words at the bottom. Aha! Those damn gender stereotypes gotcha again! Except no, because the ad literally forces you to read it as “Alex is the boy” by the visual language and lines of sight. 

A better ad would have been structured from top to bottom instead of left to right, and wouldn’t have pushed the girl, the real subject of the ad (who, by the way, has been VISUALLY PUSHED OUT OF HER RIGHTFUL SPACE ON THE AD BY HER BROTHER) off to the corner as far away from her identifiers as possible. 

Here, I’ll make you a better ad.

he can dish it out but he cant take it…