On a rare day off recently, I was approached while in the philosophy section at Half Price Books by a gentleman who, very obviously, intended to garner my attention by any means necessary. I'd scoured the tiny u-shaped pen for what seemed like a half hour, trying desperately to locate a copy of something in particular (an amateurish mistake at my beloved HPB), and settling instead to scan a copy of Sartre's Sketch for a Theory of the Emotions.
Beside me, his fingers splayed, arms outstretched toward the shelves ahead, the gentleman asked, in somewhat broken English, "What are we to make of this?"
Assuming the question was more practical than rhetorical - based on the presumed premise that he was attempting to drum up a conversation with an individual he wished to bed - I politely set about explaining the infuriatingly haphazard "organizational system" as best I could.
"Oh yes," he nodded, ponderously."But, I mean, this is a very deep and hard subject. Most women don't like it. They aren't interested in things like this."
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I might've said, "Neither are most men." Or, had I been adventurous, "You're right. Would you like to see my penis?"
Instead, I balked. Stammered, stared blankly and abruptly left the scene.
So, I submit to you, gentle reader: how does an artsy or nerdy Dallasite successfully pick up a potential paramour at a bookstore, art gallery or museum? Leave your worst - and best - experiences in the comments below.