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The accidental approach–women at work. Also, chicks are random, v. 8475.

RP McMurphy
July 30, 2020

So this week I’ve been taking a break from Twitter and the blog to work on my next novel, which is turning out quite a bit different than what I expected, but coming along nicely.

Quick point for those who want to write–especially a book: writing is like athletic training. It’s a muscle you build, over time. I should also say, as someone who’s dabbled in all forms of writing, some forms are more difficult than others. IME, here’s a quick rank:

  • Tweeting or posting on social media: Congratulations, you can mostly spell words correctly and use acronyms and hashtags. Doesn’t mean we have anything worthwhile to say, but we all know that never stops anyone.
  • Journaling: Writing a stream of consciousness, or basic thoughts on a daily or weekly basis. In all likelihood you’re never going to show anyone. And in most cases, you shouldn’t.
  • Poetry: Sorry, but if you can’t be bothered to write a haiku, you’re fucked. Also, unless you’re very, very good, you probably shouldn’t show anyone–especially not a chick, unless you’re one of the Masters of the Universe who only exist on manosphere Twitter. But they don’t write fucking poetry–they just tweet about how alpha they are, buy bitcoin, eat steak, drink whisky, and fuck young and hot all the time, no effort required.
  • Blogging: the easiest form of writing you’re actually going to show someone, as it’s typically about something you care about and there’s no need adhere to a particular structure or cite sources, and in all likelihood very few people will read it anyway. For those of you who read this one–thank you!
  • Journalism: reporting on something where you have to cite sources, quote people accurately, and try to tell the truth about what is actually happening while sounding somewhat professional. Not as easy as it sounds, and Lord knows we need more good ones now than ever.
  • Non-fiction essays or an e-book: this requires more thought and attention, but most of all, this is where length begins to become a problem. Fact is, writing something that’s 2000 words or more takes significant organization, strong editing skills, and the ability to see the larger narrative and not lose your reader on tangents or other rabbit holes writers can often find themselves traveling down if they’re not careful.
  • Short fiction: telling any sort of story is more difficult than the above, for the simple reason that it’s not real, but every part of it has to feel real, or at least plausible, to the reader, or it doesn’t work. The other reason fiction is more difficult than expository or argumentative writing is that the reader doesn’t know why you’re writing, or where precisely the story is going, but has to want to read anyway.
  • Novel: all the above, plus length, and managing all the characters, plot threads, consistencies, etc. I’ve written four so far: two published, two unpublished (because they were shit). I’d add that a good novel should say also something larger about society aside from having being an interesting story, but it can’t turn into an argument.

In any case, most of you aren’t here for that, so let’s get on to game.

Yesterday, I went to a coffee shop to write for a few hours before I picked up my son for the evening. I go in and what do you know, cute redhead is working the counter (not hot: a 6, but cute enough). I’m friendly as I order my drink, but not planning to game this girl. Two reasons:

  1. Don’t shit where you eat–I like writing here, and by hitting on the staff, in some small way I’m jeopardizing that. Rare that you’d get 86ed from a place for a polite date ask, but if you overdo it, you can be. Back in my heyday of game, there was a pub I used to go to write and drink, and I so consistently hit on chicks there (place was a goddamn goldmine) I was eventually told I couldn’t come back. Ridiculous, because I was always polite, tipped well, and none of the girls were ever upset about talking to me, but the male bartenders got jealous and white knighted me right on out of there. Faggots.
  2. I’m here to write, not to run game, and in general not too worried about chicks at the moment.

So I go to wait for my drink, which happens to be right next to where she’s making it. But then she opens me: hot today huh? How is it outside?

I say it’s perfectly nice in the shade, but then add: think I might go jump in the river later. She says that sounds nice, and I add, cause I’m a goofy fucker, that I’ll just have to watch out for the alligators and river sharks.

She’s like, there aren’t any alligators in this river–too cold.

I then go on to one of the strangest stacks ever, on how the Russians have developed a breed of cold water Alligator (which are blue, naturally), and that because of the alligators, sharks are now coming in the river, but you can avoid them if you stick to certain areas, and if you see one you have to bop it on the nose and it’ll go away.

“You’d have to be careful,” I added. “I look like a big bear to them, and as everyone knows, Russians are afraid of bears–but in that mask you look like a cute little bunny rabbit, and they’d see those little ears and go for you in a heartbeat.”

“What would they do then?” she asks, playing along, clearly enjoying our banter.

“Well, they’d eat you–unless you use my nose bopping trick.”

She laughs and hands me my drink. I say thanks and go outside to write.

About an hour later, she comes out to wipe off some tables. I ignore her, but then she comes to my table and sees me writing: “working on the next great novel, or writing emails?”

“The next great American novel–pretty soon I’ll be famous.”

We start talking about that and other stuff, she asks what I do for work, I ask her about life as a barista in the era of COVID. Then, just to see, I ask her to take off her mask as a compliance test (I have mine off as I’m outside). She does. We chat for a bit more, but she’s doing most of the talking–qualifying herself as I start to ask questions and make some flirty accusations.

At this point, I’m still inclined not to get her number for the same two reasons I stated earlier. And, to be quite honest–she’s not THAT hot. An 8 or 9, I’d be more willing to potentially burn the venue, but she’s a 6 at best. Again, cute girl (redhead, which I’m partial to) I’d love to fuck, but not super hot or anything. She is young though–told me she’s 23–and that does count for something.

Eventually she goes back inside, and I go back to writing.

About 20 minutes later, she comes back, asking if I want some water. “Sure.”

Now, here’s where I’m thinking: this is exactly how a woman who is interested acts if she likes you. She didn’t have to come out to give me water–it’s not a restaurant with table service–and she’s opened me three separate times.


This time we end up talking about our tattoos, her rings, my ring, my necklace, etc., and long story short, I finally tell her look, I’m just going to be honest: you’re cute and mildly interesting (low key neg there). Would you like to get a drink or coffee sometime–like not here though, haha (I’ve found this to be a good way to make light of the fact you’re hitting on her at work; good with waitresses and chicks working when you go for the number close, calling out the elephant in the room).

“I’m sorry, I just got out of a long relationship…you’re very handsome though. Next time you come back you should say hi.”


Not the worst rejection–and perhaps she’s merely being coy and is still in play–but it was weird given how many IOIs she gave me, how genuinely interested she seemed, only to shut me down when I gave her what it seemed like she wanted.

Two reminders here:

  1. Chicks love male attention, even if they have no intention of acting on it.
  2. Chicks are random AF.

It also confirms what I’ve said about bad girl game: women live in such a state of abundance and frivolousness–especially young women–that they aren’t particularly good judges of character in men and view all men as essentially the same. This is why the 2D alpha faggots are wrong when they say, “build your value and women will come”, you can just, “give them your number.”


The reason is quite simple: women can’t be relied on to recognize the quality or value of a man in a short period of time. They’re too driven by their emotional state. Too preoccupied with the squirrels running around in their brains to make an accurate assessment. Too reliant on their relative state of abundance to feel any urgency.

Ask yourself: would any man, just out of a relationship, turn down a number from an attractive girl who seemed lively and interesting and fun to talk to?


But for women, the assumption is that whenever she wants to find a monkey to dance, all she has to do is download an app, or go to a bar dressed sexy, and one will present himself–which is true. Problem is, not all monkeys are the same, which is why so many women complain that all the men they meet are shitty, boring, and not good in bed.

What they seem not to consider is the fact that if you choose men on a whim, whenever you happen to feel horny and/or lonely, and pass up opportunities at all other times to meet HQ guys, flake on dates, etc.–essentially randomly, and often on the basis of pictures and a short bio on SOD–your results are going to be just that: random. And because most guys in modern society are clueless, bluepill betas who have now idea what to do on a date, in bed, or how to establish polarity, the chances of landing one of the good ones is statistically improbable.

Again, at best: random.

Now, it’s also possible this was just an excuse and she wasn’t interested in me, but that would be bizarre given her behavior, which gave me every indication she was interested.

And here’s what I’d say on that: who cares. Maybe she is. Maybe she isn’t. You can’t know if a girl is going to say yes or no, or be random, or whatever, so all any player can do is read the IOIs, and if she seems interested, pull the trigger.

And of course, I could have treated it like a shit test and said, “I’m not asking to be your BF–just a drink sometime,” or something to that effect, but like the BF excuse, if you ask for a girl’s number and she declines for [given reason] it’s probably not a shit test. She just doesn’t want to give you her number. Also, with the fact that she was at work, I didn’t want to come across as overly aggressive or pushy.


Regardless of the outcome, the flirting was good, the game was there, and it was good practice. Process > results.

Lesson here is that when you’re out and about, you should always be well dressed and ready to talk to people, even if you have no intention of running game, as was the case for me yesterday. Use the old man at the grocery store, the married couple walking in the park, or the baristas at the coffee shop as false sets–you’re not getting a number, but try to have a fun conversation with them. See how long you can keep them engaged. Try to get them to laugh, tell a story, or get them to tell one.

Because the more you practice, the easier it is when you see a cute girl you want to talk to.

Oh, and just a note here: I went back to Shangri-la yesterday with my son to get an ice cream cone–place is fucking loaded with hots. Seems like the real deal. Flirted with a few sets, but I still haven’t mastered the art of closing with a child in tow. Will probably have to go back there this weekend to day game, even though that’s not really my focus right now. It’s just too good.

Alright fellas, back to novel. Much love as always.

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Post Information
Title The accidental approach–women at work. Also, chicks are random, v. 8475.
Author RP McMurphy
Date July 30, 2020 7:09 PM UTC (2 years ago)
Blog RedPillDad
Archive Link https://theredarchive.com/blog/RedPillDad/the-accidental-approachwomen-at-work-also-chicks.29898
Original Link https://redpilldad.blog/2020/07/30/the-accidental-approach-women-at-work-also-chicks-are-random-v-8475/
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