Photo by Tomasz Wieja
As long as I’ve lived in this city, I’d always wanted to go to PDT. It’s kitschy, but it was on the long NYC checklist. My friend Kelly was well aware of this, and invited me to tag along with a group of girls she knew going. Immediately, I couldn’t refuse because the odds were stacked in my favor as one of three guys in a group of six girls. In going to such a place, I was appalled that not a single one of these ladies had a red dress. I busted out the vest for the occasion, and they brought nothing to the table. Well, I wouldn’t say nothing, their reservation was the only reason I got in.
I ignored the girls I came with because the red dress was my white whale of the night. It didn’t take long before I zeroed in on Sydney. I Immediately compliment her on her dress, and she kind of brushed me off. I continued, “No seriously, this isn’t just a horrible pick up line. I genuinely appreciate the fact that you put on the red dress to come here.” She looked at me for a moment. Up and down, weighing whether or not she was going to mildly indulge me. I offered to buy her a drink to help improve my odds. Fifteen minutes later we were in the back booth with our Martinis.
I have to say it was one of the most interesting experiences I’ve ever had. We spent a solid hour talking, and yet, not revealing any sort of personal information about her. I noticed this about five minutes into the conversation, and tried to keep it up for as long as possible. She wouldn’t ask me personal questions, I wouldn’t ask her any. I didn’t get her last name, I have no idea what she does for a living, no idea where she lives…etc. I know she takes her Martinis dirty. I know that even when she can’t walk straight or form a completely coherent thought, she can carry that glass without spilling a drop. And I know that when she gets close enough to kiss you goodbye on the cheek she smells like cinnamon.
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