I made a comment that I had gotten a girl's number without saying a word. To be honest, the details on the specific situation I mentioned in that post are a little blurry (alcohol), but I did it again last night and thought I would deliver. I've broken this post into two parts: Context and Field Report. You can skip Context if you don't want to hear what lead up to the night.

Context

I live in San Francisco with about 70 other people. It's a converted hotel, so I have my own incredibly small room but share a giant kitchen, living room, theater room with everyone else. A dozen of us were at a massive beer fest. While waiting in line for my hundredth taste of beer, I convinced the girl next to me I was mute. Through hand gestures and typing on my phone, we had a conversation in line. I brought her back to the dozen housemates I was hanging out with and introduced her out loud. "Hey everyone, this is Jenna!".

"You asshole!" she shouts, and gives me a push. I take her from the group and explain that yes, I was lying. We hang out a bit more that night.

Explaining it to my friends later was fun.

"Why did that girl call you an asshole?"

"She thought I was mute."

"Why?"

"I may have lead her to believe so..."

That event came to be known as doing a Hellen Keller. Yes, Hellen Keller was deaf and blind, not mute. Yes, it's pretty offensive. I don't care.

But, that got me thinking. How much do I really have to talk? Can I tone this down and do it without talking, but without pretending to be mute? After doing it three other times, I hit my peak last night.

A common occurrence for me when coming home after work on a Friday is to be greeted by a group saying "Hey, are you coming to X bar?!". This time, the bar is Monroe.

On Friday nights, Monroe runs a battle of the decades every hour. From 6:00-7:00, well drinks are $1 and the DJ plays 70s music. Next hour is $2 80s, and so on. By the time the 90s music rolls around, you have a packed bar that is pretty trashed. Obviously a good time.

We're there just after 7. By 7:30, I'm on my fourth vodka and coke (shut up I like them). They had gotten considerably stronger after I accidentally tipped the bar tender 150% by giving him a five and confidently telling him to keep the change.

Field Report

It's 7:30 at Monroe in San Francisco. The dance floor is on fire, fueled by the top tracks of the 80s and $2 well cocktails.

I'm at a table with a dozen of my housemates. Next to me is Schwartz: A young Jewish software engineer that you would cast in a movie as a young Jewish software engineer named Schwartz.

Schwartz sees two girls dancing and decides to crash their party. Without saying a word, he hops in and busts a move to whatever 80s one-hit-wonder was playing at that moment. They're cool with him and they all seem to be having a good time.

I'm still chilling at the table, admiring his lack of fucks and doing the math on how many drinks I can get before the price goes up by a dollar at 8:00. I make eye contact with one of the girls.

She's a cute, short, brunette. Solidly my type. I'm a handsome motherfucker, but I round up to 5'5". Short girls are my bread and butter.

I smile. While still dancing, she waves me into the group. There's a bit of a subtext of "your friend is already here, don't be lame".

I start dancing like a movie extra in Tech Noir (before the Terminator shows up). This isn't your normal club bump and grind. During the more singing heavy songs, I'll put an arm around the girl or her friend while belting out the lyrics.

For about thirty minutes, this was the pattern: dance with the girls for a bit. Go back to my group of friends. Walk over to another group of friends. If I pass the girl: put my hand on her arm, shoulder, whatever. Make quick eye contact and keep walking. I'm signaling I'm interested, but I have other shit going. The only words she's heard come out of my mouth are the lyrics to Take On Me, belted out along with the rest of the bar.

I'm standing with a few of my friends. Two of them are housemates I'd told a bunch of pickup stories, both girls.

"Want to see me get this girl's phone number?"

"Yes!"

"Ok. I swear we haven't talked. Just danced."

"oh my god, are you doing a Hellen Keller again."

"Sorta, she knows I'm not mute."

I turn out from the group and look for her. Luckily, she's dancing and facing me. I make eye contact and wave her over. This is from about 15ft away. While she's walking I pull out my phone. I pull up Create New Contact and hand it to her.

[Aside: This is the only number close I do anymore. It has a 100% success rate. Just don't get your dick hard thinking that getting a number means anything. My goal is to establish that we want to see each other again. The number is just something that lets that happen. In this case I'm doing it to both show off to friends and just get out of the way.]

She puts her number in, and puts her name in as "Courtney Fucking Dagazi." (name changed of course). I take my phone back and say "thanks". I put one arm around her waist and pull her in for a quick half hug. I let her go then turn back to my group.

The rest of the night we kept up the flirting and actually talked. When the music changed to 90s, she said "I like the 80s music more. We should go somewhere with that." I told her there was a bar near my house with 80s music on Thursday nights.

One time I walked past her, she grabbed my arm. I swung my hand down and patted her on the ass and kept walking. I mention it because later after we dance she said "Thanks for not groping me like the other guys." So, apparently some stuff I thought was pretty forward wasn't even close to being offensive.

The night went on and she eventually left. I never saw her with a drink, and she said she was going to drive home. I'll probably text her this afternoon and set up a date.