Hit On

I have no idea what’s happening to me. I am generally either not very self-aware or overly self-aware, but every once in a while, something very surprising happens… happens to me. It is both encouraging and terrifying and at the end, makes me question humanity.

I got hit on at a deli.

Now, my wife gets hit on all the time. If she called me every time she was approached by a guy… well, it would just be easier for us to stay on the phone. She gets hit on while I’m standing with her, me, not so much. But it does happen on some RARE occasion that I am approached.

I’m not bragging about it as much as I just think it is a very strange occurrence, like a free lunch or levitation (maybe a little braggy). It has happened a few times in my adult life and I am very unaware of why and when it occurs, but when it hits me I… well I kind of panic.

About three years ago, I had just finished playing a set at a Seattle bar. I had pealed my sweaty behind off of my drum throne and was heading to the bar to get my normal two glasses of water and a plain orange juice, PLAIN! NO THANK YOU ON THE VODKA MR. BARTEND, OOPS MS. BARTENDER! Before I could get a foot from the stage, a very pretty young woman approached me and said quite plainly into my eyes, “What would you do if I made out with you right now?” exact words.

To which I replied quickly and in a higher register than normal, “Probably get divorced! Why would you do that to me? I’m a happily married man!” My feelings were hurt that she would destroy my family in one horribly awkward make out session. I completely glossed over the fact that this highly desirable woman could have walked up to any of the handsome gentlemen in the bar (to which there were many, on top of my band mates who I may add are quite comely). She then, with little to no facial reaction whatsoever, continued to look me in the eyes and said, “Well, at least now you know,” and started to walk off.

Stagger off? Her steps were wobbly, but I attributed that to her heals and being unnerved by my answer. I don’t think a girl that pretty is rebuffed very often, and in my shaken state, I’m sure my reaction was less than graceful. Her friends came over to console her on either side as they walked her out of the bar.

Then it hit me, that a woman other than my wife found me attractive enough to want to kiss me, in public. IN PUBLIC. My band mates slapped me on the back and laughed (in sheer amazement probably) that the member of the group that most resembled a hobbit would be the one approached by a “hot” girl.

I immediately called my wife, who was at home, to tell her the strange news and to see if she was jealous. This is how that went:

Me: Hello honey? It’s your husband at the bar.

Wife: I know who this is. What’s up?

Me: Well, I don’t know how you are going to feel about this, but an attractive young lady just walked up to me and asked me to make out with her.

Wife: How drunk was she?

Me: Drunk (not drunk)? Did you just ask how drunk she was?

Wife: Yes, she must have been very drunk. Was she standing?

Me: Yes she was standing. She was giving me sexy eyes.

Wife: She was probably just trying to focus. Did she have any friends with her?

Me: Yes, they helped her out the door after I told her I would not make out with her.

Wife: So, you think they had to help her out because she was so crushed that you wouldn’t make out with her?

Me: Wel…no, I…I mean, she… She must have been pretty drunk.

Wife: Yep. You got anything else for me?

Me: No, I guess not.

Wife: Okay, I’ll see you when you get home, tell the rest of the band “hi” for me.

;

So maybe that doesn’t count, because after several stiff drinks I might look like a kissable George Clooney, or to a lesser extent Jeremy Renner. With no stiff drinks I look more like Paul Giamatti.

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Last year an attractive Russian woman at the roller skating arena told me it was too bad that “Daddy already had a skating partner at home,” while I was with my son. This woman was not drinking, as it was 10:30am and we were at a children’s skating event. So I called my wife again.

Wife: What? I’m in the middle of writing.

Me: I just wanted to let you know that a sexy Russian mom just hit on me at the skating rink.

Wife: What did she say?

Me: She said it was too bad I already had a skating partner at home. Implying that SHE would like to be my skating partner.

Wife: You said she was sexy. What does she look like?

Me: I don’t know, just attractive. She looks like a 20 something mom, out with her 4-year-old daughter.

Wife: Take her picture.

Me: I’m not going to take her picture.

Wife: She’s not that pretty if you won’t take her picture.

Me: I’m not taking her picture, that’s creepy.

Wife: Whatever, I have to get this writing done. Are you eating lunch out or are you coming home.

Me: Out…no, home. We’ll come home.

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The picture was too blurry to see any details on the woman. The video didn’t turn out either. I am convinced that my wife just blew off the whole encounter as an attempt for the Russian mob to steal my pristine kidneys, for which I am sure there is a large bounty. Although I believe the possibility exists that my kidneys could be the target for black market harvesting, why is this more plausible than accepting that I was found attractive by a younger, visually appealing bi-lingual female?

But don’t get me wrong. I’m not advocating here that I’m a prize to be won. I’m not saying that I’m attractive OR desirable in anyway. Even on my best days, I wonder why my wife hasn’t faked her own death and run away with someone that has washboard abs and an advanced degree in ANYTHING but sales. She’s smart enough to do it. This isn’t the point, the point is: Why are a rare number of ladies attracted to me when I am so (comfortably) unappealing?

Last week at a bakery/deli, I was alone and not looking my best. I have a beard experiment going on right now (no need to wait for the peer reviewed journal, the experiment is failing), and although I’m headed in the down direction, my weight is above both Speedo AND cartwheel levels, meaning it wouldn’t be good to see me in either. Most of you can attest that my fashion sense could best be described as “accidental.” On this particular day, I can tell you that I had all the confidence and swagger of an exchange student in a high school locker room (not much).

Imagine my surprise when I order a sandwich from a lovely young woman at the sandwich counter of this fancy bakery/deli/coffee shop and have THIS little back-and-forth conversation as she rings up my debit card.

Waitress: (looking at my card) So, is your name really Steve Damm?

Me: I hope so, or this would be considered fraud.

Waitress: (giggle) Really?

Me: Yes, that is my ACTUAL name. Why? Do you know the other Steve Damm that lives in Seattle and owned Damm Fine Printing? Because if you do, please tell him I’m sorry for all my old musician friends calling him up in the middle of the night thinking he was me.

Waitress: No, I’m not interested in THAT Steve Damm, I’m interested in the Steve Damm right here. (She looked at me with eyes that said she was neither fall-down drunk nor looking to score some black market kidneys.)

Me: (Completely taken by surprise) Oh my.

I began to seriously blush. Not a-little-color-in-the-cheeks blush either, it was a fire engine red swelling in my face. I have blushed maybe three times in my life and all of them have been memorable, as it is nearly impossible to embarrass me (See above, clothes, weight, hobbit, etc.).

Waitress: Oooo, looks like I made Steve Damm blush.

Me: No, I just remembered I’m severely allergic to baked goods.

She handed my card back to me and I reached for it with my left hand. She saw my wedding ring and gave a playful groan.

Waitress: Bummer, looks like you’re off the market (this was clearly a statement and not an inquisitive question).

I must say, the fact that she respected my marital fidelity was kind of a turn on. Not that any of that would cross my mind. I’m repulsed by philandering and even if I was interested, the idea of an affair just seems incredibly inconvenient. Who needs another person in their life to disappoint? Not me, I’m disappointing my maximum as it is.

Although the experience was brief and was over due to mutual respect of my rock solid marriage, she did say my full name unnecessarily two more times. Strange. When I got to my car, I was feeling all the confidence and swagger of a high school football player in a room full of exchange students (much). Then I looked in the mirror and realized the woman I was speaking with must have been legally blind and I should have tipped more.

As expected, I called my wife to report that a sober, assumingly fully kidney’d woman was VERY forward with me. As I was driving away, I gave her the details:

Wife: Is that all you said to her when you walked up? What are you wearing today?

Me: That’s all I said. And I’m wearing the grey sweater and the same pants as yesterday.

Wife: Same pants huh? Really?

Me: Yeah, they weren’t dirty and they were ready to go.

Wife: Did you have that big coat on covering you?

Me: Yeah.

Wife: oh, okay. Did you get a picture of her?

Me: No, I was a little flustered and then it was time to leave.

Wife: Go back and get her picture. What was wrong with her?

Me: I’m driving away, I’m like six blocks from there now. (hands free headset as per WA State law) Just take my word for it, she was very pretty. This is unmistakable.

Wife: I don’t know, you think Bette Midler is hot. I won’t be able to judge without a picture.

Me: Bette Midler WAS hot and I’m not going back.

Wife: Whatever, I’ll see you at home. Call me and tell me how our son’s day went. Congratulations on that girl hitting on you.

My wife is right to question all of these instances. I mean, I’m not a horrible person or hard to get along with, but I do NOT send off a sexy vibe. So there must be something “wrong” with these three women, and I think I know what it might be.

After watching some more current films and seeing traces of TV and magazines, I’ve noticed that the new “in” thing for men to do is look terrible. Hair messed up, wrinkly and generally disheveled seems to be a winning look for men in their 20’s to 40’s. Which means I have waited long enough for my natural state of being to become fashionable. Remember that old saying that a stopped clock is right twice a day? I guess these encounters were my time: Sweaty Drummer, Roller Skating Dad and Vacant Expression Sandwich Orderer are all winning looks for Steve Damm.

So it’s a rare thing for me to be hit on and the fact that it happens at all doesn’t give me the hope that you think it might. No, instead it tells me that humans are making more and more bad decisions and lowering their standards. That makes me a bit sad for the human condition, and that’s the Damm truth.

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