Every woman gets them, the bad opening lines from total strangers, the ridiculous come-ons. Some of them are laughable, others are just plain out there. These are my most memorable: the weirdest of the weird.
“Can I mate my dog to yours?”
A man I had never seen before knocked on my door. He didn’t even say “hello” before he asked if he could mate his dog to mine.
I told him I don’t breed dogs.
My lack of interest wasn’t enough. He tried to convince me by explaining how our two dogs would “look good together.” Except that dogs engaged in copulation isn’t one of those things on earth that are enjoyable to look at. There’s a reason a coffee table book entitled The Wonderful World of Mating Dogs hasn’t been published.
I told him there wasn’t going to be mating of any species taking place. Then I went all Bob Barker on his ass and lectured him on the importance of spaying and neutering. After that, I slammed the door.
“Would you like to go to dinner with me — to a Furr’s Cafeteria?”
I was in the parking lot of my gym when an elderly gentlemen I had never seen before—hadn’t even made eye contact with— asked me out to Furr’s.
I politely declined. He proceeded to argue with me, as if he couldn’t fathom anyone turning down a chance to eat at a Furr’s Cafeteria. For those of you who don’t know what Furr’s is, it’s a school-cafeteria quality food served on those ubiquitous plastic trays. Think overcooked lasagna with mystery meat and weeping lime jello topped with generic cool whip. Furr’s is a favorite hang-out of the geriatric crowd.
I told him, “Call me in about 60 years. At that age, I’ll be thrilled to go.”
“Hey there, fellow shopper, wanna get some shots?”
I’m in a parking lot putting groceries in the trunk, when some stranger asks if I want to go for drinks. It’s morning. A little early to slam down shots of tequila.
I notice his car has an upside down vanity license plate that reads “HUNGOVR.”
Gee, the last thing I want is to go out with a guy who has such a drinking problem he feels the need to announce it on his car. He’s such a booze hound that of all the things he could have thought of to put on his plate, he chose something alcohol related. Then he deliberately mounted the plate upside down to really drive home the point he is always blitzed out of his mind.
The irony is that there will be some woman who hooks up with him—then later complains he was a raging alcoholic—but she never saw any red flags.
“I’ve got your package right here.”
I placed a package on the counter of a pack ‘n ship place and told the male cashier, “I have to get my other package in the car.”
Without missing a beat he says, “I’ve got your package right here.”
He smirks and glances slyly down at his crotch.
I couldn’t believe he said that to a customer. Women don’t want to picture in our minds some strange guy’s man junk when we’re running errands. Scratch that. Women don’t want to picture a guy’s man junk.
“Hi, little heifer!”
I was eating at restaurant with a friend when a dude approaches and says to me, “Hey there, little heifer!”
Now I work hard to be slim and in shape. I sacrifice. I don’t eat dough-nuts, drink sodas, or eat chocolate. I often skip dinner. It isn’t flattering to be likened to a creature with a weight that can reach upwards of 1200 lbs and who farts so much it’s changing the climate of a entire planet. Although to be fair, he did quantify it by saying “little”.
I had walked to a 7-11 to get a Slurpee and was standing outside waiting for a friend. As I stood there sucking on my drink in my jeans, t-shirt and tennis shoes, a guy pulls up in a pickup truck.
He leans out the window and says to me, “Wanna party?” like I’m a working girl.
He realizes his huge mistake when he sees the horrified look on my face. He kicks up gravel getting the hell out of there.
I should have messed with him. I should have shouted,
‘VICE!! OUT OF THE TRUCK NOW! GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!
YOU’RE UNDER ARREST FOR SOLICITATION OF PROSTITUTION!!”
Some gangsta wannabe exclaimed, “Nice poopshoot!” as he cruised past me while I was strolling in the mall with my grandmother. Sometimes it’s all in the wording. It’s one thing to comment “nice ass” to a woman you don’t know, but “poopshoot” is just downright nasty.
My grandmother asked in her loud quavery old lady voice, “Dearie, what’s a poop…shoot?! Is that like a turkey shoot?”
“I’ve got something for you…”
I was sitting on a bench in a casino minding my own business. This strange guy walks up, gets too far into in my personal space, and says in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ve got something for you.”
I’ve heard this line before so I’m thinking, “Ugh. Now I’m going to have to hear all about his cock.”
Instead, he says,”I’ve got cocaine.”
He steps back grinning in anticipation of my thrilled reaction.
God, we’re not back in the days of Studio 54 with Andy Warhol and that decrepit crowd. The 80s called and wants their drug back.
What was he thinking??
He should have offered crystal meth.
I was alone in a restaurant enjoying a nice pasta dish when the waitress interrupts to bring a phone to my table. There’s a call for me. Who knows I’m here? And who would be calling me using the restaurant’s phone?? Usually a call like that is super urgent. It’s the President calling with a matter of national security.
Totally creeped out, I answer hesitantly.
A guy I don’t know on the other end of the line says, “Hello, I’m sitting outside in the parking lot.” He directs me to look out into the parking lot for him in his white Corvette.
I squint as I look outside into the bright sun. I scan the parking lot, and can barely make out this guy waving from a hard top white Corvette. I ask, “What are you doing?”
Him: “I saw you sitting in the window and I wanted to meet you.”
Me: “Why didn’t you just walk in here like a normal person?”
Him: “I want you to come out here.”
Me: “Well, I’m not going to go out there!”
I slam the phone down.
This guy uses his car to meet chicks. He does whatever it takes so that women see him in his car. This, of course, presents a wee bit of a problem since he can’t get out of his car in order to meet women. He’s strictly limited to locations where he can drive, like parking lots, drive-thrus, gas stations. The women also have to be in locations with windows because he has to have an unobstructed line of sight in order to position himself in the Corvette. And the lighting has to be good. He has to make sure he’s well-lit so his targets can see him.
Adding to the continuation of his dorkiness is that he isn’t gaining any experience with women because his only interaction with them is through a windshield.
Now we come to the the #1 worst line I’ve ever heard. A line that rises above all the others. A line so bad, it reaches new heights of absurdity heretofore not seen.
“Is that a bomb in your hand?”
Sometimes the neighborhood kids played in my yard because it was the only patch of grass for blocks. I was in my front yard and picked up a plastic child’s walk-talkie that appeared to be broken. As I examined it, a guy I’d never seen before walks up, looks at what’s in my hand and asks,
“Is that a bomb in your hand?”
WHAT?!! A BOMB??!! OH MY GOD!!! THERE’S A BOMB??! WHERE’S A BOMB??! CALL THE BOMB SQUAD!!
After I got over the initial shock of hearing the word BOMB, I just looked at him. This was his opening line-—to tell a woman he thinks she’s holding A BOMB in her hand?
He then continued, “Well, why on earth would anyone put that there?” as if finding a child’s discarded toy on the lawn is so unusual and thought provoking it requires lengthy analysis.
I didn’t respond. I walked into my house and shut the door.
The bottom line here is that you don’t need to say something bizarre or wildly inappropriate to a strange woman or man you hope to eventually bang. Just say, “Hi, my name is ________”