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As a cocktail waitress I get hit on a lot. That may sound conceited (I’m not denying that I am) but it’s just the way it works. The waitress is an easy target for a man to practice his game on. It’s not just me, I think it’d be fair to say all girls working in nightlife are used to flirtatious men, lewd advances, mastering the “backaway, I’m unapproachable” glare, and saying things like, “Sorry, I have a boyfriend,” when they don’t.

When I was in middle school my older sister worked in an ice cream shop. I was overcome with jealousy, she could eat as much chocolate chip cookie dough as her heart desired. After a few months at the shop I remember her telling me, “I like ice cream, but when you’re around it all the time you just don’t feel like eating it. It’s too much, the smell of it is unappetizing.”

I essentially work in a man shop. I get how my sister felt about ice cream. Typically I don’t get butterflies for men I meet in the nightclub setting but I also typically don’t meet men like Nate.

Nate, an Australian rugby player with looks that could inspire a Disney prince character (Nate, if you are reading this… I’m exaggerating. I think you’re just okay looking…) approached me last week at work.

He is 6’6, count it out, that is seventy-eight inches of man. He was hard to miss standing at the bar but I usually don’t go for men who are better looking than me or that I meet at work so I didn’t pay him any attention. Throughout the night I kept running into him as I scrambled through the room with drinks and bottles. I thought it was just coincidence until he stuck his head in the server station and asked, “When are you going to talk me?”

Nate was adorable, charming, and funny regaling me with boyhood tales and obscure facts. I suspected he might be drunk, it was late in the night, he was being outrageous and silly but I had just met him so I let myself believe it was his free spirit.

When he was leaving we swapped numbers. “When are you going to call me?” he asked.

“After you call me,” I said coyly. He called my number and hung up.

“Okay, I just called you. You have to call me next,” he said, then planted a kiss on me and wandered out the door.

A few days went by before I texted Nate. I wasn’t sure if I should get in touch with him, if he could be a real prospect, or if I should just write it off as a fun flirt. Then I figured, if I’m messaging with all sorts of men online who are strangers why not go for one that I met and already know I have some chemistry with.

I went for it. He texted back. (Gasp.) He didn’t know who I was. (Sigh.) Oh, Nate. Oh, my ego.

I reminded him of my first name, it still didn’t ring any bells. He apologized, said he was drunk that night and suggested I friend him on Facebook. I declined and didn’t text back.

A few days went by before he texted again. He told me he had read this blog and wanted to take me out. It was strange to me that Nate went from not knowing my name to finding online info about me, but it turns out Nate is also an expert google stalker. 2011, technology, oh man!

As far as my ego was concerned I know it probably wasn’t the best move to go out with a guy that didn’t even remember meeting or kissing me but at the same time I was curious about going on a date with a 6’6 Australian I met offline and I didn’t want to discount the possibility that he may suffer from temporary amnesia.

I can’t remember the last time a man asked me on a date in real life. Does that even happen anymore? There are hook-ups and casual hangouts…but a date? I was too intrigued to pass it up.

I went into it with low expectations. I imagined him to be an obnoxious jock or brain-dead pretty boy, but he wasn’t at all. He was smart, driven, entertaining, and annoyingly charming. I had a lovely night with him. Our date was great for lifting my spirits on the real life dating game and reminding me that there is something to be said for recognizing real life chemistry.

Nate had to leave the country to renew his visa (as I type this sentence, it is dawning on me that he could have made that up… It would be an incredibly tactful way to cut me off) but when he comes back, if he still remembers who I am, I hope to go out with him again.