Unwelcome Dental Advice

Imagine you’re a teenage boy in high school. Or maybe you are in high school and somehow, you’ve found your way to my page. Whatever the case may be, just imagine, for a second, that you’re a teenage boy in high school, and you’re not as attractive as one of the jocks or one of the rich kids whose parents can pay for nice clothing and skincare products that reduce the inherent amount of pizza-face you’re likely experiencing at that age.

Now, imagine the girl you’ve liked since the eighth grade is standing at her locker with her friends, chatting away between classes. She runs her fingers through her hair and adjusts a loose bundle so that it rests behind her ear. She does this in a nonchalant manner that belies how truly attractive she is, like it just comes naturally to her to be so fucking cute. A crook in the corner of her mouth leads to a unique smile that makes you swoon like you’re lusting over the first naked titty you ever saw.

You want to stride over there like you’re on horseback and ask her, no, tell her that you would like to take her to dinner and a movie. But you remember that your father is a convicted felon, your mother works at a diner to make only enough money to pay for the next pack of cigarettes, and you’re dressed down in K-Mart hand-me-downs that your older brother bestowed upon you like they were some kind of badge of honor because of all the pussy he got in them.

But you brush off the nagging sensation that you’re not good enough for your dream girl, and you stride over purposefully to make a fool of yourself.

“Hey, [insert dream girl’s name here],” you say, your voice cracking slightly, as though you haven’t gone through puberty yet, despite the bird’s nests growing both under your arms and in your pants. “Would you like to go see [insert popular movie choice based on the girl’s likes, and not your own] and maybe go to [insert restaurant, once again based on her interests, not yours] after?”

Hey, that wasn’t so bad, was it? It’s almost like talking to girls isn’t terribly difficult.

But then you see it: the friends flanking your dream girl suck in a sharp breath through their teeth like they just received a paper cut followed by a squeeze of lemon juice. Their eyes flit back and forth between each other in a wary manner that tells you your timing couldn’t have been more off. Even your dream girl gives you a skeptical eyebrow raise indicating that she does not, in fact, wish to do either of those things with you.

“You’re just not my type,” is all she says in reply. Her friends nod their affirmation, and you walk away, deflated, sweaty, and ruined. What went wrong? Was it the prepubescent crack in your voice? Did you forget to wear deodorant after showering in gym class? Or maybe she’s seen your social media pages and knows you’re bound to be a mouth-breathing neckbeard that lives out of your mother’s basement and rants at redditors about how Greedo shot first, not Han.

What she’ll tell you later, away from her friends, is that you lacked confidence. But when she told you that you’re not her type, it immediately set off a chain reaction within you. She thinks you’re ugly. She doesn’t like anything you like. She hates that you enjoy video games and reading sci-fi. All that confidence you had before going in was shattered like your favorite Eskimo Joe’s beer mug that you foolishly let your friend drink from at your college graduation party.

The above is a slightly exaggerated reenactment of my own high school days but let me regale you with some other truths about confidence and prospects in dating. Years ago, I asked out a girl I met at the supermarket. We seemed to be hitting it off. I was a 25-year-old Senior Airman working out of Tinker AFB in Oklahoma, she was the 24-year-old daughter of a retired Master Sergeant. She laughed at all my jokes, agreed on food preparations I had planned for my week, and made a positive comment about my shirt (I was wearing a TOOL shirt from their 2004 tour). Clearly, I’d hit the jackpot. She was into me, right?

So, I made my move. I asked for her number. Cell phones were gaining ground, so she told me the number and I put it in my phone. A few days later, I called.

“Domino’s Pizza, can I take your order?”

I was deflated. Crushed. So, of course I asked if that girl worked there. She, in fact, did not. I’d heard of this before, giving out wrong numbers, but I was still shy enough from my confidence being ripped apart in high school that I hadn’t asked enough girls out for it to happen to me. I lived, I learned.

A few weeks later, I was at a Blockbuster video within walking distance of my apartment. You remember those, don’t you? It was a magical place where people could go on a Friday night with their friends or loved ones and pick out one, two, or a handful of movies to take home with them and indulge in their inner child. I was single and had nothing better to do, so I grabbed a bunch of different fare: Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith had recently come out on DVD, I also picked up Wedding Crashers, Serenity, Sin City, and an old favorite I didn’t yet own, Strange Days.

It was a buffet of different cinematic adventures, and I was sure to enjoy myself. As I reached for a copy of Strange Days, a cute girl with red hair and freckles for days watched me and asked if I’d ever seen it. I happily replied that it was my favorite movie and handed her the box so she could see the description. Still curious, she asked me to describe the movie in my own words, and I happily launched into a diatribe about its shrouded main story, the heavy musical numbers, and how the main character, Lenny (played by Ralph Fiennes), is more of an anti-hero. She told me she liked those kinds of movies and asked if there was another copy available.

There was not. I had the only copy in this Blockbuster. So, I did what any horny mid-20s guy would do and gave her the copy in my hands, but I also asked for her number. She smiled and recited the number to me. As I began to type it into my phone, it found the number to already be in its memory. I looked up at her and gave her a skeptical eyebrow.

“This is a number to the Domino’s right down the street,” I told her.

Her face flushed. I don’t think she’d ever been caught in this ruse before. I pressed her further.

“If you didn’t want me to call you, you could have simply declined giving me a number.”

She bit her fingernail, likely a nervous habit borne of a life of not telling the truth. “Did you break Daddy’s favorite coffee mug?” “No, it was the dog.”

She replied, “I didn’t want to tell you that I don’t find you attractive, so I figured I’d let you down easy.”

As if one were a nicer way of destroying my confidence further. Which one has a higher chance of making me feel like a hideous fucking CHUD? Is it A: be told you’re not attractive in person, or B: be given a false number and call to find out that the girl you thought might think you’re cute is actually an indomitable shit-bird who would rather give you false hope over being utterly honest.

Tip for those of you who still fall for these kinds of traps: If a girl gives you a number, read it back to her, but offer one incorrect digit in your statement. If they correct you, you know they’re legit. If they don’t, you know to stay away. The more you know!

Confidence is a fragile thing, and no matter how much of it you think you have, it’s something that can be shattered in an instant. Confidence is tricky. You can claim all the live-long day that it’s what you find attractive but know that sometimes your actions cause that confidence to wane in some. Sure, some of us (I’d like to include myself in this category) are easily able to bounce back and regain our traction. Confidence, for me, is easily built because I do so many things so well. Oh, wait, is that arrogance? I digress.

If you want men to be confident in their approaches, just consider the things you may have done in the past to destroy it and understand that sometimes that confidence is going to sway a little to the left or right. It may not be as straight and narrow as you’d like. Think of what someone might have gone through before meeting you and know that their confidence might not stick the landing in the best possible way, but that the intentions are still there, and they’re coming from a good place.

I’m confident that you all have the ability to do this.