This past weekend was one for the books. I spent my class-free hours making memories with some of my favorite people. Friday night began with my girlfriends and I treating ourselves to gourmet pizza, and we finished the evening by joining forces with our Y chromosome bearing buddies, and played Battle of the Sexes until the wee hours of the morning. Although the board game spiraled into a much too competitive brawl, the real story for tonight comes from the first half of the evening- the pizza date for a table of three.
Anna, Rachel, and I walked into my favorite pizza place around eight. We were able to get a table immediately, but not without me noticing an almost wink from one of the backwards hat wearing waiters. I didn't really think anything of it, and we sat down and started in on our gabbing. Being the old biddies that we are, we spent most of our evening talking about the dangers of social media. We ranted about the kids whom we kept over the summer, and how their idea of "playing" involved an iPad or some sort of tablet and, sadly, no sign of a swing set or soccer ball. Confidently we decided that our children would not be brought up that way. That they would pretend, and play dress up and make believe, and build forts from bed sheets and broomsticks. We admitted to falling subject to the ways of the social media world, and how it was finally time we were proactive about the issue. Could we go a day or two without mindlessly scrolling?
Right on cue, our waitress appeared at our table. She must have heard our blubbering, so we thought, because she was giggling as she approached. Cute, late twenty-something, red-headed, single mom, and very personable. She leaned into me, almost to the point of it being uncomfortable, but she seemed nice enough. (And for the record, it takes a lot more than a dramatic lean for me to feel uncomfortable.) By this point she was definitely laughing. "I know this is so silly..." she began. She went on to say that the backwards hat wearing waiter thought that I was "so cute," but that he "didn't have the guts" to come tell me himself. She then uncovered a folded white slip of receipt paper from her apron and planted it on the table. "Here's his email address. He's a nice kid," she said with a wink then slips away.
My friends and I sat there, picking our jaws up off of the table. Not only was it hysterical that I had been hit on via my waitress, but that she brought me his EMAIL ADDRESS. I'm sorry, what are we, 12 years old and you want me to message you via the Runescape chatroom? (Don't be embarrassed, we all did it.) Somewhat to our dismay, it was not his email address...it was his Instagram username. I had just been hit on via my waitress, and what she had to offer me was a name preceded with an "@." Charmed, I'm sure.
What happened to the days where a boy would spy a cute girl, approach her at the soda fountain counter, and offer his hand for dancing that next Friday night? We live in a world where texting is the new phone call, snapchat is the new secret admirer, and a username qualifies as "courting." I am not pinning this all on the guys, as a female, we are all guilty of it too.
On his behalf, the backwards hat wearing waiter eventually introduced himself to my friends and I. He was very kind and an eerie look-a-like to Corbin Bleu. I don't plan on that going anywhere other than our table for three, but at least I got to put a face with the username.
Boys. Girls. It's the season of love. Whether you're reaching out to your husband of twenty years, girlfriend of three years, or eighth grade puppy crush, be sure to sign your valentines with a pen and not via the world of social media.
Spread the love, y'all.
xoxoxo
W
No comments:
Post a Comment