SOLO SUSHI GAME
Approach Anxiety (AA) is the bane of every man to ever walk the earth.
Some have it more than others.
Some can decrease it to almost undetectable levels.
Even those who claim they’ve got it under control – it is never truly gone. Anyone who says otherwise is a bullshit artist or socio-path.
What is more tragic is most men go through life unaware they have AA. When it comes to bringing the women they want into their life the average shmoe figures that’s not how the world really works – picking up women is for the good-looking douche bag types – so they don’t even consider getting off their ass and saying “hi” to a girl. It’s unfathomable.
These guys end up living their lives in an unsatisfied and unfulfilled state. Probably in a miserable marriage with a miserable wife. Game over.
(Before all the happily married PUA dudes go ape shit – I know – you met your wife by approaching her back in your prime pick-up days and now your alpha self is married to a hot little aging spark plug. And your kids wrestle alligators every morning before you shuffle them off to pre-school. Oh, sorry – they are home-schooled in the mountains, how could I forget? Well, I am not talking about you guys.)
I am talking about your average shmuck.
I didn’t approach girls as a teenager, didn’t approach girls in college (well maybe a bit in college – it’s not hard when it’s dime drafts on Thursdays and every girl there is as inebriated as you), and definitely didn’t approach in my twenties. Any success I had with women prior to marriage was luck. Right place at the right time. I initiated nothing. I risked nothing. I figured that was just the way it is for guys like me.
Fast forward to about a year or two ago. I deleted all online dating apps (that arena was too toxic for me). Went into monk mode and had a self-imposed/forced personal transformation. Both in mind and in body. I won’t go into details but I did all the things the manosphere waxes poetic about. I devoured all the redpill/game material I could. I studied Stoicism. Read all the manosphere literature. I worked out like a madman. I counted calories. I even hired an image stylist.
Internally and externally things began to click. As absurd as some of the advice peddled in the manosphere is, the shit works.
I did all the crap you were “supposed to do” for over a year. My body and mind literally transformed. I looked and felt like a completely different person. I was leveling up and increasing my ever crucial SMV.
Keep in mind I was already financially secure, had a side hustle, trained BJJ for the last 12 years, no co-morbidities aka I wasn’t a fat bastard, my ex-wife wasn’t a pain in the ass, and I had/have great kids.
There was one problem. I was still scared shitless to leave my home and approach women. This in turn led to lots of lonely weekends.
I wish I could say I was diagnosed with chronic AA and there was no cure.
But I can’t. All I can say is I was a pussy. (Yes, I know I’m supposed to go easy on myself and show self-compassion. But, I call a spade a spade.)
I just wasn’t approaching. I wasn’t socializing either. Unless I was with my circle of friends (mostly married dudes with kids) I wasn’t going out at all.
On paper everything sounded great. I could visualize and conceptualize all the do’s and don’ts of Game. I understood attraction and seduction. I had 4 years of online dating under my belt (probably 200 dates and 60+ lays – and that’s not a flex. If anything I am embarrassed. I had no self worth and slept with lots of fat 4’s and crazy 5’s but that’s a post for another day).
But the thought of going out alone and striking up a conversation with anyone, much less a female, who two seconds before didn’t even know I existed, was out of the question. It wasn’t part of my universe much less my reality.
Until one random Wednesday evening.
Sorry to disappoint but there was no Eureka! moment that got me off my ass. No “hitting rock bottom” curled up in a ball on my living room floor in tears.
It was rather simple.
I was in the mood for sushi.
I had already worked out that day, trained BJJ that morning, studied some game, wrote 1000 words, read some history, and journaled. All the happy horseshit the strong solitary man does.
It was time to eat and I planned on getting some take out for dinner.
I grabbed my phone to bring up the sushi menu and place my order.
I checked Twitter real quick.
Someone I followed under a different account – I wish I could remember who, I’d give them props right here – mentioned they were going to grab dinner at a bar alone.
That’s it. That was the tweet. It wasn’t even a motivational tweet.
The dude just tweeted something like, “Bored. Going to eat dinner alone at bar. Who knows what might happen.” Or some crap like that.
For several reasons the tweet resonated with me:
It was early evening. Even if I spend two or three hours at the sushi place I’d still be home the latest 9PM.
It wasn’t uncommon for someone to stop at a bar to grab a bite to eat. Especially for a guy.
I told myself I wasn’t going there to pick up women. My purpose was just to have dinner.
The odds of a young hot girl also eating alone at a sushi bar were a gazillion to one. But those odds were still better than sitting on my couch.
Lastly, maybe I could at the very least chat up the bartender, and if she was female, even better. God knows I need the practice.
Was this a step in the right direction? Yes. Was I fooling myself? Probably. But it beat living inside my head for another night.
I got dressed. Casual but sharp. Laid back with some nuance. I could be coming home from work or just starting my night. Nobody would know. By that point I had an arsenal of tailored clothes for every occasion, thanks to my image guy.
I got in my car and drove. It was about 7 minutes away.
I wish I could say I walked right in like I owned the place but I was a nervous wreck. I sat in my car for like ten minutes. I had to psych myself up just to get out of the car and walk the one block to the restaurant.
As I walked past restaurant after restaurant, I felt exposed. Like I gave off a loser vibe. As if everyone on the street knew my true intent.
In my entire life I don’t think I ever entered a bar or restaurant alone without the intention of meeting friends or being on a date.
The logical side of my brain knew I was being ridiculous. But it didn’t matter.
I’d go to bookstores alone all the time. Loved going to the movies alone. Give presentations in front of douche bag CEO’s, alone.
I walked into a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu academy when I was around 33 years old, fat and out of shape, alone – 14 years later and I am black belt.
Competed all over the country in large BJJ tournaments. Laid it all on the line so many times I’ve lost count.
But walking into a bar alone – I was scared shitless.
After a ton of self-talk and mind hacking I got the courage to walk through the door and sit down at the bar.
Those first few minutes were excruciating. I felt heavy and stiff. Like I was drowning in cement. I could feel the material of my clothes on my skin with every movement I made. Tight and scratchy. I was operating in slow motion while the whole place was going in regular speed. I could barely speak.
I placed my order with the bartender. I am sure my voice was fine. To me it sounded like a shallow murmur that somehow the whole place could hear.
The bartender thankfully was female and she was definitely cute. Not club caliber, just normal cute with a nice ass. Definitely in her late 20’s or early 30’s.
At that point I couldn’t even make small talk with her.
A couple was next to me. Drunk. I positioned my body so all they saw was my back. I was so self-conscious the last thing I needed was a drunk couple putting the spotlight on me.
As if on cue, they started bullshitting with me.
As fucked up as I was at that moment, I was still a decent human and I still can hold conversations, the last thing I am is rude and anti-social, so after a few minutes of small talk the three of us were laughing and dare I say, having a good time.
I loosened up without even realizing it.
Two dudes came and sat on the other side of me. Sadly, they were probably my age but they looked 20 years older, unkempt, portly, and lifeless. They knew the bartender. I guessed they were regulars. I watched as her eyes glazed over when they spoke. They rambled on telling stories about their work day and she just nodded and smiled as she did her job.
The drunk couple next to me was leaving, but before they left asked if I wanted to come with them to the next venue they were heading to.
My dinner hadn’t come yet so I declined. They told me where they were going (walking distance) and told me to meet them later. High fives and hugs all around.
I couldn’t believe they asked me to hang. I had just met them twenty minutes ago. Needless to say this made me feel good.
If I went home right then and there I’d look at the night as a win.
Obviously this gave me the little extra boost I needed to practice some game techniques on the bartender.
I looked at gaming her as a no-win situation. I had no expectations. Even if it was a quiet Wednesday and she didn’t give off the “stripper bartender” hired gun vibe – I still expected nothing.
When she gave me my food, I threw an assumption at her. I was loose now from socializing (wasn’t drinking) and with the two dudes on the other side of me talking to me every now and then I didn’t feel as tight and awkward.
I started to act on instinct without realizing it.
“You have to be from Queens the way you are prancing around back there.”
It was a bullshit open. Made absolutely no sense. And looking back, it was my first official opener of “game” in my life. There was logic behind it though.
First, “prance” is sort of neutral. Yes, it was a lame opener but still, I opened the door to more interesting conversation than the two clowns next to me. There was an outside shot she’d ask “what is that supposed to mean?”
Second, I was born and raised in Queens. She was ethnic looking. Spanish or Italian. If my assumption was wrong she would tell me and I could run with that. Or she might even ask me, “what made you say that?” and I could’ve pulled some more shit out of my ass. If I was right, she would be like “no way!”
Well, I was freaking right. She was from Queens.
From there it was easy for me to stack and get a nice vibe going. I teased her every so often. Sometimes a little harsh. Regardless of her girl next door nature she was still a bartender and no doubt was used to compliments and getting hit on. She wouldn’t be getting any mundane conversation from me.
I kept her laughing but was sure never to ask lame questions (like the two guys next to me) and to keep dropping soft qualifiers.
I know what some guys are thinking. “She’s a bartender asshole. She is supposed to laugh and play into your stupid shtick.” I’d be the first to agree. And to a point those guys would be a right.
But remember my goal here wasn’t to get laid. It wasn’t even to get a number. It was to get off my ass, out of my head, and into the real world. It was time to put everything I’ve studied and learned into practice.
In addition, contrary to what this article implies, I am not a social moron nor am I naive. I am self-aware and socially calibrated. Forty-seven years on the planet had given me some skills that do come natural. I’d kind of know if I was getting played.
In any event she still had a job to do. So like any good bartender on a quiet weeknight she tended to the patrons at the bar more like a waitress than a stripper looking for tips. In all I’d say she had a handful of customers aside from myself and the two dudes next to me.
And those two guys actually had the balls to try and stack off my Queens opener. They started telling her about how when they were kids their parents would take them to the World’s Fair (in Queens) or some crap.
She didn’t give a shit. I wanted to help them. I wanted to be like guys, she doesn’t give a shit. She’s working. At least make her time here pleasurable. Make the conversation about her. Fuck with her. Make her laugh.
As the dinner wore on she kept gravitating back to me more and more. When things were slow she would stand by me and bullshit with me. She eventually started asking me questions. “Do you have kids?”, “Do you live around here?” She even played with her hair a bit and teased back (Coincidence? Probably).
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t comparing her body language, eye contact, and conversation she was having with me to everyone else. It was clear I was the most interesting customer she had that night. I wasn’t imagining it. At the very least I held her attention and then some. That wasn’t saying much but it was what I needed at the time.
I wish I could say I got her number and banged her in the parking lot. But after a few hours I left. I didn’t have the confidence to go for any type of close whatsoever.
For me at the time it was a win. I know seasoned PUAs will laugh at that. As a matter of fact, I Iaugh at it now, but I am also damn proud of it; as small a victory as it was.
It wasn’t about the outcome.
It wasn’t about how I got her to sort of “hook” and hang with me the rest of the night. It wasn’t about that she was a bartender, a “hired gun”, probably gaming me for tips. It wasn’t about me being a total wuss and not asking for her number. Although what the hell, it couldn’t have hurt.
It was about me just being seen. Living. Being out of the house. Instead of another night of writing, reading, and doing nerd shit like worrying about my “macros” I got off my ass and experienced life. Nothing I did was crazy. I didn’t go jump out of an airplane, head to Peru to smoke tree bark, or skew a wild boar – all I did was step foot out my door.
And look what happened when I did, all in the span of about 2 hours.
I was invited to hang out with a drunk couple, met two guys who even though clueless were still two living and breathing humans, and I was able to hold the attention of an actual female I didn’t meet on a dating app.
Not to mention an older blond woman eating alone at the far end of the bar came up to me before she left, touched me on my arm, and told me to have a great night.
But the residual effects were even more important.
Instead of reading about it for the 1000th time, I experienced what just stepping out of my house (comfort zone) can do.
No, I didn’t open 15 girls in 2 hours. I didn’t close an Eastern European model. I didn’t go down the block to meet the drunk couple and game all the women in the place (in hindsight I probably should’ve), and I didn’t get laid behind the dumpster.
I took a small step. And sometimes that’s all you need. It wasn’t nightgame and it wasn’t daygame. It was just existing game. Being “seen” and being a social animal. And I did it without a fall back. No friends, no co-workers, no bullshit story that I’m “meeting friends in a few minutes.” I did it alone. It was all me.
I took that momentum and ran with it.
It set off a string of solo dinners which ultimately turned into solo weekend nightgame. I’ll be posting those first few solo nightgame adventures soon.
Every few weeknights when my schedule allowed I would hit a different bar/restaurant. By the third or fourth time, I was walking in joints like I owned the place. I used the Queens line every single time (unless it was a dude).
My first official number close EVER post online dating, happened through this method. The successes are not as interesting as the struggles so briefly:
She was a cute 23 year old. Still lived at home. Opened with the Queens line and she immediately hooked. “What makes you say that?” as she brushed her hair from her face.
Again a non-stripper bartender. Just a cute girl. I sat in amazement when she hooked. She started asking questions. She started making eye contact when she wasn’t serving me or talking to me. She played with her hair alot. Put it up in a bun – all the IOI horseshit you read in the books. Her voice even cracked and stuttered a bit after she hooked. Prior to the hook, she was composed. I was just another customer to her. I noticed the change in her demeanor and it was fascinating to experience.
We texted a bit the next day or so. And she revealed that she had a boyfriend. She was still going to meet me, but the day of the date she texted and said she just couldn’t do it. She felt bad for her boyfriend or something.
Not much else to tell about that. I chalked it up as win.
So for the dudes who have studied Game and the thought of going out alone (day or night) and stopping 5, 10, 15 girls scares the crap out of you – ease into it. Go to a bar. Strike up a conversation with the people around you. You’d be surprised how receptive people are. Plus you have been studying game already, no doubt you will most likely have the upper hand on every single other dude in the place, especially on a quiet Wednesday night.
Watch the body language, the things she says. I don’t care if they are a bartender. This isn’t a club in Manhattan. And it’s not a Saturday night in a trendy club. It’s a restaurant with a blue collar bartender serving food – she’s a glorified waitress.
Don’t be a dick. Don’t be creepy. And don’t be like the other guys making lame ass conversation. Make the conversation about her. But tease her hard. Make it fun. And expect nothing. Just be seen.
(FULL DISCLOSURE: Since Covid I have not gone back to this. Where I am, if you are not eating a meal you can’t be in the establishment. Which means less overall volume, less movement, less variety. And volume is the biggest drawback to weeknight solo dinner game. It’s lots of trial and error. I have some free nights this coming week so my plan is to hit a bar and have a meal. I am just hoping they don’t force me to sit me at a table because of some dumb rule. Either way it’ll get me out of the house and then anything could happen.)