Get Over Yourselves for Crying Out Loud

Here is a concept to ponder: Guess the percentage of absolute horny toads at a given fitness club which houses a protein/refreshment cafe with a cute teenage girl behind the counter who perpetually take turns hitting on her while they wait for the drinks to blend and discuss wheat germ shots while pretending they can comprehend the CNBC reports on the above television screen. How many per day walk mosey on over huffing and puffing in a wife beater flexing as best as they can trying to impress the snack bar girl enough to give them her phone number so she and maybe a friend can sneak out on a school night and go for drinks with the guy boasting the most elaborate tribal band tattoo paired with spiky, near-flammable hair style of the year? Might these be the same gentlemen who make it impossible to order a drink later that night from the downtown bar because they get the unique feeling of genuine sincerity from the half naked bar tender charging twelve bucks a piece and acting interested in their mostly asinine commentary? Do any readers have the statistical probability of that protein bar girl or friendly bar tender ever being seen with any of those guys hitting on them outside of work? I know a guy who once walked into Tootsie's Cabaret in North Miami Beach and proceeded to ask out a woman who, when she was not behind the bar smiling sincerely and chuckling at his clever humor (just his by the way; I am sure she never ever smiles and flirts with anyone else usually), was upside down gyrating on a brass pole to a Motley Crue song. Question for readers to see if I still have your interest: Do you think he wound up exchanging numbers with her so they could get together sometime? Perhaps her phone number started with a 555, only this story does not take place in Hollywood within a movie script if you get my drift.