Update, the bank teller knows my name. I followed the universe's lead and made my move. Thank you Artist Way!
Almost the same scenario as before; went to bank; she's at the window, shock! Her hair is straight, and no glasses, still as hot as ever. I conference call my team of writers to form a strategy. "Talk about her hair," one enterprising young talent said. "They love it, and it probably took a while for her to do it, she'll love the attention."
I amend my script to include discussion of follicles. The security guard is eyeing me with suspicion as I let customer after customer pass to go to inferior tellers, waiting for my gift from the universe to be available. Suddenly my goddess says the magic words: "next on line." A woman is nearly trampled as she assumes I will let her be next; I spring to action and push her back in line, throwing her off balance and into the other clientele.
Her previous customer is still there; an eccentric old lady who is dressed way too warm for the 65 degree day. I notice my teller looks exasperated. I make my move and the old lady leaves as I give her a dirty look. “That could very well be my future,” I say. I get a laugh. “Yeah, she’s okay, but she’s here everyday with one problem or another.”
Time for action. "Wow, I love the straight hair," I say. Instant laugh and smile on her face (I make a note to give my writer a raise). “Really? Thank you.” "How long did it take to do it?” ”About four hours. I just watched TV while doing it, it was annoying but I got through it." "It was totally worth it." Smile three.
I go into my script that I had prepared last time; the craziness of the lines; how I’m always at the bank withdrawing money, hemorrhaging cash, I wish you didn’t see me like this, I don’t get dressed up for errands, etc. It’s going well. I’m killing.
I talk about comedy. “So if you want to see me in a better light, check me out at a show. Do you like stand up?” “I went once, it was better than I thought it would be. Where do you perform?” “All over (gotta get booked more), here’s my card maybe you can come out, my guest.” “That would be great”, she says, and I leave on my final smile. I feel godly.
So far the universe seems to be on my side. I double checked my bedside companion, Zen and the Art of Picking up Chicks. I seem to be okay. As long as she doesn’t read this, I have a chance. Updates to follow.
Stay tuned for part 3 where I ask the dreaded question: "Do you have a boyfriend?"
Almost the same scenario as before; went to bank; she's at the window, shock! Her hair is straight, and no glasses, still as hot as ever. I conference call my team of writers to form a strategy. "Talk about her hair," one enterprising young talent said. "They love it, and it probably took a while for her to do it, she'll love the attention."
I amend my script to include discussion of follicles. The security guard is eyeing me with suspicion as I let customer after customer pass to go to inferior tellers, waiting for my gift from the universe to be available. Suddenly my goddess says the magic words: "next on line." A woman is nearly trampled as she assumes I will let her be next; I spring to action and push her back in line, throwing her off balance and into the other clientele.
Her previous customer is still there; an eccentric old lady who is dressed way too warm for the 65 degree day. I notice my teller looks exasperated. I make my move and the old lady leaves as I give her a dirty look. “That could very well be my future,” I say. I get a laugh. “Yeah, she’s okay, but she’s here everyday with one problem or another.”
Time for action. "Wow, I love the straight hair," I say. Instant laugh and smile on her face (I make a note to give my writer a raise). “Really? Thank you.” "How long did it take to do it?” ”About four hours. I just watched TV while doing it, it was annoying but I got through it." "It was totally worth it." Smile three.
I go into my script that I had prepared last time; the craziness of the lines; how I’m always at the bank withdrawing money, hemorrhaging cash, I wish you didn’t see me like this, I don’t get dressed up for errands, etc. It’s going well. I’m killing.
I talk about comedy. “So if you want to see me in a better light, check me out at a show. Do you like stand up?” “I went once, it was better than I thought it would be. Where do you perform?” “All over (gotta get booked more), here’s my card maybe you can come out, my guest.” “That would be great”, she says, and I leave on my final smile. I feel godly.
So far the universe seems to be on my side. I double checked my bedside companion, Zen and the Art of Picking up Chicks. I seem to be okay. As long as she doesn’t read this, I have a chance. Updates to follow.
Stay tuned for part 3 where I ask the dreaded question: "Do you have a boyfriend?"
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