Field Report

I had a bad case going. When one pines for a single woman, and in doing so attempts to get closer to her, displaying neediness and lowering his value, he results in pushing her away--this is known as Oneitis.

Fortunately there is a cure. The cure is to go out and find as many other women as possible.

Marcus and I shotgunned some beers before we headed out. Usually this is not a good idea, because for most people gaming women is not as effective when drunk. But we weren't most people. I pounded two cheap beers quickly. Marcus had three. He was trying to beat his record he set the previous night of shotgunning three beers in six minutes.

Eight minutes later we were on the corner of Broadway and Olive where we ran into Jorge as he smoked a cigarette outside our favorite bar on the street.

"Why aren't you on the smoking patio?" I asked him as we approached.

Jorge shrugged. "I don't like that crowd. Plus there's just fat people." He said in disgust. A bartender from inside was on the street, and she came up and commented on my jacket. It was red leather and a size too small, much like Michael Jackson's from his video 'Thriller'. She caressed it. I said "thanks." That's the best answer a confident person can give to a compliment.

Jorge finished his cigarette and we walked inside. A girl with a lot of tattoos was checking i.d.'s. I had gamed her a few weeks ago, but had forgotten her name. She smiled, recognizing me, and let me in right away. "I like your tattoo." I said. "Reminds me of a comic book."

We strode to the bar and Jorge bought us all drinks. I realized that he was already rather drunk. Apparently he had been there for an hour or so, drinking tequilla and PBR by himself. We talked at the bar, as Marcus played scout and checked out potential targets. It was still rather early, so we laid low and got a little drunker.

Jorge was talking about his new band when I spotted a 8.5 at the bar. Blond with gigantic breasts. "Marcus," I said, "go open up that Blond 8.5 set." He looked at me, with his back to the bar.

"Where?" He asked.

"Behind you, center of the bar." He turned slightly. I notice the blond checking us out. We made eye contact, a definite sign that she was interested in meeting us. This was understandable.

I was wearing a green hat to compliment my red leather jacket over a tight black t-shirt and a lot of cheap necklaces. Marcus was wearing a purple patchwork velvet jacket that I had loaned him, an expensive black hat, and a neon green undershirt. Even for Eugene, we looked ridiculous. The night before, a group of girls had approached Marcus and I as we played pool and asked if it was okay to get their pictures taken with us.

Our experiments over the last week had proved that looks did not matter much, at least for men. Social value was much more important.

"Ok." He said. "I've been toying with a new opener. I'm going to test it out." He walked over to her. Jorge gave me a strange look.

"You know," he said, "I like talking to you guys about music and shit because you're so cool. But when you start talking about opening sets and shit, it kind of creeps me out."

"Don't worry, buddy." I reassured him. "It's just a glorified hobby."

Marcus and the blond were talking up a storm at the bar. He was confidently motioning with his hands and the blond was leaning in towards him, smiling brightly.

"I just think that gaming people is gay." Jorge said. He was drunk.

"Perhaps." I told him. "It's completely superficial. Almost devious. But how many phone numbers have you gotten in the last week?" I asked him. It was a mean thing to say, but Jorge needed the message. I had gotten 6 numbers in the last 5 days. Marcus 8.

Marcus returned. "How'd it go?" I asked him.

"Good. Lindsay, I think." He said.

"Very nice. She definitely looked like she was into you." I said.

"Yeah she was. I told her I had to get back to my friends as a bunch of people she knew came by."

"I'd like to open some mixed sets with some guys involved." I said, searching for targets.

"Why?" Jorge asked.

"Good practice," I answered.

"How do you get girls in groups of guys?" Jorge questioned.

"Basically just give a lot of attention to the guys. Make them know you're not stealing their turf when that's exactly what your doing. Let them think they're the alpha male. Ignore the girls essentially, except to neg them."

"Really? Ignore the girls?" Jorge asked.

"Definitely. They're all dolled up, looking pretty. And this guy comes up and completely ignores them? They'll wonder what the deal is. They'll fight for your attention. And it demonstrates social value." Marcus said.

"Or they'll think you're gay." I said, which happened almost often to me. "Especially in this town."

We decided to head out to the smoking porch. On the way out I noticed a brunette 8 standing at the bar by herself. I stopped to order a drink and opened her.

"Hey, I need your opinion," I said as I ordered a Guiness draft.

"Okay!" She smiled. 90% of women loved to give their opinions.

"What's the difference between this bar, and the Horsehead across the street? People keep telling me to check it out because they think I'd love it." This was a lie.

She started telling me about it, and her favorite spots around town. I eventually got around to reading her palm, and she loved the vague cliches and truisms. I told her it was great to meet her, but that I had to get back to my friends outside. This was true. She smiled and we exchanged phone numbers.

I walked out onto the porch and noticed Marcus and Jorge were in a 2 set with a couple of 9's. I was impressed, but didn't want to interrupt so I walked right by them without acknowledging the group and immediately approached a 2 set of girls sitting by themselves in the back of the patio.

I couldn't think of an opener, so I just sat down at their table. They turned to me and smiled. I noticed they were 7's at best, probably low self esteem girls. I didn't need an opener for them; they were glad enough that a man of my stature had approached them.

I asked them how they felt about the end of summer, and we began conversing about things we'd done the last few months. I paid more attention to the unattractive one, who was named Leanor, instead of the slightly cuter blond girl. Suddenly I saw a couple of my friends enter the porch. Ben put both arms in the air and shouted my name. Mike, who was painfully shy and awkward around strangers, was in tow. Shit.

Ben came over and slapped me on the back. He was drunk. He sat down and I introduced my friends to the ladies. I had forgotten the slightly cuter girl's name, which worked well as a neg. It showed that I wasn't interested enough to remember her name, even though I remembered the clearly less attractive Leanor.

Ben began talking to me about something ridiculous, and the girls turned away. Soon they stood and left, saying good bye to me. Granted, it was a weak set, two 7's, but I still hated being cock blocked.

Marcus and Jorge had finished their set and came to our table, greeting everybody.

"Nice set." I said.

"Elysia." Marcus said. "I don't have my phone with me, but she wrote down her number and winery she works at. She said we should come visit." Mike and Ben looked shocked and awed.

"She's standing over there with a girlfriend still, so no one react in case she sees. Good work, Marcus." I said.

"You got her number?" Mike asked, his jaw still open.

Marcus nodded. "We're practicing to become social artists." I explained to Mike. "It's basically using psychology and social principles to our advantage."

"Wow. I wish I could be a social artist." Mike said sadly.

"It's a piece of cake. Watch, go up to this girl behind us and ask her if pork is white meat or red meat." I told him.

"What? Why?" Mike asked.

"It'll get a conversation started. And it really doesn't matter what you say, but rather how you say it. The point is, is just to get two strangers talking." I explained.

"No, I'm not doing that." Mike said.

"Meh, fine." I stood up and walked over to her. She was a blond 7.5.

"Hey," I said, "my friend and I are having an argument. I used to work in a deli," (this was true) "and he thinks that pork is white meat, whereas I'm saying it's red," (this was a lie), "what do you think?" She smiled, and as it turned out she was an avid hunter. So was one of my good friends. We ended up talking for a while, and I demonstrated higher value until she started leaning into me and touching me.

"Hands off the merchandise." I told her, and she laughed.

"Too bad none of those couches are open. I totally wanna go sit down over there with you." She said to me.

"Well, tell you what, you go buy us some drinks and I'll try to find us a quieter place to talk." I told her, and off she went.

I returned to my group briefly. Mike was in awe.

"Man, I can only admire your magic." He said.

"Magic? It's not magic." Marcus declared. "Pick any group of people out here, and I'll go open them up."

"Ok...that group right there." Ben pointed to a large set. Five girls it seemed. Two of them were high value targets, a couple of 8's. Marcus smiled and went over to their table. I made my way back inside to try to find the girl with my drink.

I walked inside but couldn't find her among the crowd. The bar was getting more popular as it got later and townies got drunker. I made my way to the bathroom and took a leak. On the way back I noticed blue lights flashing from outside. The police were around for some reason. I ran into Marcus as I made my way back to the patio. He handed me a fresh beer.

"What's with the cops?" I asked.

"I don't know. I think some street rats got into a fight outside or something."

We walked back onto the porch. I noticed three blond girls sitting by themselves at a table to my right. I decided to take advantage of the police so I approached and asked them if they knew what was going on. Two of the three girls were attractive. I decided to make the brunette my target, as I generally was more attracted to the dark haired rather than light haired.

Apparently some drifters had beaten up a tweeker on crutches. I joked if that was why I saw a man with crutches running away. They all laughed. I negged my target, telling her friends that "You can dress her up, but you can't take her out, huh?" Again they all laughed. I was standing above their set, and needed to get onto equal ground quickly.

"Let me show you something," I said, motioning for my target to stand up.

"What?" She asked suspiciously.

"Are you adventurous?"

"Yes." She replied.

"Spontaneous?"

"Yes." She replied.

"Want to get your palm read?" I asked.

"Yeah!" She said.

"Alright, stand up first of all." She stood.

I grabbed her hands and pulled her by me, then stole her seat.

"Hey!" She said, laughing.

"Don't worry, I'm an Indian giver. I'll give it back." I replied. "Now, which hand do you write with?"

Her friends laughed, and turned to judge my target's reaction. Clearly she wasn't used to this kind of stuff. The social artist is always an exception.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around. It was Sarah, a friend of a friend.

"Vlad!" She cried out. "Be a gentleman! Give her her seat back!" She shook her head in disgust.

Goddamnit, I thought. Everyone I knew in this town was a cockblocker.

"Don't worry," I said, although my eyes said, 'fuck off', "I know what I'm doing. Mike and Ben are over there." I said pointing. Thankfully, she took the hint and left. I turned back to the girls, but my target looked worried.

"I can't find my debit card!" She exclaimed. She was digging through her pockets. "I think I left it at the Indigo District!" She was looking at her friends for help. I decided to evacuate.

"It was good to meet you." I said, shaking their hands. "I hope you find your card, miss."

I stood and saw a commotion in the back of the patio. Jorge was drunk and trying to climb the fence onto the street. My friends were trying to compel him to stop.

"Don't worry!" He shouted. "All the cops are over there and they're distracted!" People were laughing and cheering him on. I decided to leave the patio before we all got kicked out. I walked back inside and found Marcus sitting at that bar. He flashed me his phone which displayed a phone number with the name 'Amanda' above it. I patted his back and he handed me another beer.

"Jesus, I'm kind of drunk. Everyone can stop buying me beers anytime now." I said, and we laughed. I had to work in roughly 4 hours.

"Check out that set behind us. At the booth." I turned and checked it out. Three blond girls were sitting by themselves. All of them high value targets, 8's at least all the way around. Two fo the blonds were on their cellphones, texting and looking bored.

"That's going to be a tough one." I said. "You'll want to sit down immediately to avoid looking needy, but you'll want to sit down as you're speaking. You can't directly approach either, or you'll come off as creepy. I'd walk by like you've got somewhere better to be, then stop as if you suddenly thought of a question to ask and noticed their group."

"Yeah," Marcus said thoughtfully, "but there's that table of giant meatheads and bro-dudes right there behind them. So there really wouldn't be any reason for you to be walking by."

"Maybe. Worth a shot though. Do you want this set or can I have it?" I asked.

He shrugged. "All yours."

I stood and walked by their table and to the group of large bro-dudes. I found the first one I could and started acting like I was his best friend, asking if you saw the fight outside and all the cops. After a bit, I excused myself and walked back past the table of girls, and turned my head over my shoulder, speaking to them as I continued to walk.

"Hey guys, I need your opinion real quickly." I said.

"Yeah, okay what?" They asked.

"Well, I'm trying to cheer up my buddy over there," I said motioning to the bro dude. This was a lie. "He just broke up with his fiancee, they've been together for like 18 months, not even 2 years." I slid into the booth next to one of the blonds. She smiled and moved over to make room for me.

"Anyway, he bought her this bad ass engagement ring for 6 thousand dollars, and he wants it back. That's like a month's worth of salary for him but she--"

"Wait," one of the blonds asked. All three of them were leaning towards me, captivated. "Your friend makes 6 thousand dollars a month?"

"Oh--yeah. He's a financial analyst in the state capital." This was only a half lie, because I did have a friend who was a financial analyst in a state capital. Just not this state. And I did have a friend who broke up with his girlfriend and wanted the ring back. It was flirting.

"So she's a grad student, and needs the money. So she'll probably sell it. But he bought it, and she broke his heart, so he kind of wants it back. What would you guys do?"

They began discussing their answers. What they said wasn't important. The one next to me was asking about my Buddha necklace. The one across from me was laughing at my jokes. The third girl was checking her phone again. I was losing her. One of them started caressing my jacket when two males approached our table. I ignored them as the blond across from me finished a story, but I could see the males motioning towards me, confused. They were asking each other, "who is this guy?"

"Are these guys friends of yours?" I asked the ladies.

"Yeah, they're the boyfriends." The girl next to me said.

I turned and saw one wearing a Yankees t-shirt. I was an avid Redsox fan. "Oh no dude, tell me you're not a Yankees fan. I think you just lost some points with me." I told him.

He seemed confused, then remembered his shirt. "Oh, no, no...I just have this shirt. I don't really like the Yankees. I'm a big Giants fan." He said. Just then, Marcus came into the group and started talking to the boyfriends. The guys turned around and became engrossed in the distraction. A perfect wingman.

"Tell me this guy isn't stealing our girlfriends?" One of the guys said.

I decided it was time to evacuate.

"Do you guys know each other?" One of the girls asked. "Both of you have awesome jackets."

"Nah," I replied, "but I'd like to get to know him. That definitely is an awesome jacket." I didn't know it then, but I had broken a rule of winging: Always acknowledge your wingman, and value him more than any woman in the club.

We evacuated the set and sat down at the bar. The 8.5 with large breasts came and sat down with us.

"You can only sit here if your name isn't Lindsay." Marcus said. The girl pouted.

"Please?" She asked playfully.

"She seems pretty cool, Marcus. Maybe we can make an exception this one time." I said.

Marcus pretended to think it over, then relented. They began talking about Chicago, as apparently she had lived there for some time. I threw in some things to give Marcus some higher value, and she seemed to dig him. But I felt she would've dug him even if we weren't using her as a test subject. She seemed to genuinely enjoy the conversation, and was actually a pretty nice person.

I left the set so they could be alone, and opened up a redhead with some tattoos on her biceps. I asked her if she had seen the fight, and we began conversing. She worked downtown as a waitress at a fancy gym that apparently served food. We joked around until I felt that I was getting sufficient indications that she was interested in me, so I established an emotional connection by telling her about the significance of her tattoos--they were lotus--and she seemed surprised that I would know such a thing.

It was late, and the bar was closing soon, so I decided to number close her and evac. I told her it was great to talk with her, and she agreed. I said we should continue it again some time, and she agreed. I handed her my phone and she typed her number in it, under "Racchel", misspelled. She asked if I was a player. I told her absolutely not. I wasn't sure if that was a lie or not.

I went back into the bar and Marcus had a beer waiting for me. By this point I was rather drunk and had to work extremely soon, so I started drinking as quickly as possible because I was exhausted.

But Marcus insisted that I open a three set that had just walked in. "Don't think about it, just do it. Three second rule. It'll be good practice." He insisted. The set seemed low value to me, but he was right. I had spoken those same lines to him before.

I got up and opened them with the engagement ring opener. But I was tired, and my enthusiasm wasn't 100%. And they could sense it. Half way through my routine, they asked me if it was a pick up line. I was blowing it. But I managed to get through the material, and was kind of shocked when they said that they would keep the ring.

"Fuck the guy. It's her ring now. I'd keep it if I was her." They all said this. And it was strange because Marcus and I had been using that opener all night, and everyone had insisted that they would return it. This seemed to be an omen of their low value. I made some small talk with one of the girls before I told them it was nice to meet them, and then left.

I told Marcus about their response and he agreed that it was weird that the last group we approached would give that response. But I didn't even care that I had half assed my way through it, because I was drunk and exhausted. And I needed to be at my day job at in three hours. The next day my voice would be hoarse from talking over the music and speaking to so many groups of people.

I had gone out in search of curing my oneitis. I returned drunk and with a couple of numbers that I would add to the growing collection in my phone. I didn't even bother calling most of them. It was like a video game. I wanted to see if it could be done. I was always prepared to fail. But it was nice to beat a level every now and then.

Regards, Esortnom

Caveman

We had tinkered with the Steroid Diet. For a week and a half my buddy Dale and I ate nothing but egg whites and baked potatoes. Potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil lined the bottom shelf of my fridge. Giant bowls filled with hard boiled eggs lined the top shelves. Egg yolks filled my kitchen trashcan and started to smell after a while.

I heard it was what steroid users ate during their cycles. So we figured we'd give it a shot. On our lunch breaks, Dale and I would pile salt and pepper onto the eggs and potatoes as we drank beer and watched Sportscenter. After a week, we got sick of the diet. It was too bland. We started going to Carl's Jr. and Subway again on our lunches. Big Carl burgers for 2.49. Foot long subs for 5$. It was cheap. It was easy. It was alright tasting.

A girl we worked with introduced us to the Paleo-diet. Or the Caveman Diet. She touted the benefits of this 'cleanse', as she called it. Her long black hair flowed over muscular shoulders and thick biceps. She was short, but solid. Light colored hairs prickled her square jaw. She squatted to tie her shoes, and bent over to push heavy objects as she grunted. There was something grotesquely masculine about her.

She was the perfect example of what we were looking to become.

I went jogging with her one hot afternoon when she gave me the caveman diet template. She had just ran a half mile up a hill twice. I only made it once. And barely. I held the paper with the outlines in a sweaty hand as I collected my keys from her hot apartment and left.

Dale asked me how it went.

"She kicked my ass." I said.

"Obviously." He replied.

She had placed some bottles in front of her doorstep to take out later before we went for the run. I told her the bums and tweakers would take them for their deposit. She didn't believe me. I savored a brief victory when we returned and the front of her steps were bare.

It was the night before Dale's birthday party when I went over to her house to make jello shots. I thought she wanted to get drunk and take advantage of me, but it turned out that I was the most alcoholic person she knew and she wanted my advice on the recipe, which was sad for the both of us.

I drank warm tequila and toyed with her cat while she got high out of a small bong and the television made noise at us. It was the depths of a summer, and the boiling jello made us sweat as we sat on separate couches worlds apart. My phone was vibrating constantly. Other people wanted me. I wanted her. She wanted to get high and watch sitcoms.

I compromised by asking if she wanted to go out. She declined. I left her in a pair of white bike shorts and a black tank top to go hit on the big breasted dipshits my socially awkward companions had waiting for me at the Horsehead. When I mentioned that Bear Gylles was a fraud and a rip off of Les Stroud, they refused to speak to me for the rest of the evening. I introduced myself to another table and began to eat their fries.