I did karaoke last night – my last night in Minnesota. The  night before I did trivia.

Both were great activities with a core sampling of my friends, and both involve friendly, flirty females who are forced to fake fun conversation with you. I wish that there was a synonym for conversation that started with “f.”

“Trivia girls” are my biggest fantasy. They are a beacon of useless knowledge that must present the fruits of their intellectual labor in a performance of flirty proportions. So, I try my hardest to extend these clippits of one way conversation into deeper discussions of their personal life. It’s the perfect environment to do this because they are in the mood of being too open and honest with their customer base already, so they are easily tricked into over sharing information about their previous relationships, favorite books/tv shows/movies, what type of sexual positions they like, etc.

Then they feel vulnerable. Then we are on the same level.

I am one who feels the need to share everything to everyone. Thus the blog. My private life doesn’t exist. Trivia girls are forced into that same boat. And that boat is a life boat of awkward small talk where one party feels a mounting sexual tension and the other feels a need to leave the boat. While these trivia girls may be more likely to brave the icy cold waters than continue answering my probing questions about their childhood, they will not show that. If they were to show that, then they are also showing that they are not a good trivia host, and no one takes more pride in their job than a trivia host. It is the only job that is completely dependent on you. You are creating every piece of it, so if it fails – you fail.

So, I take advantage of that fear of failure, and force my hostesses to feel vulnerable in front of a complete stranger, then I joke about leaving my phone number to my friend, then I leave the bar mildly regretting that I didn’t follow up with my kidding on the square suggestion to myself, then I feel awkward about going back to trivia after my last interaction, then I realize she probably doesn’t even remember me, then I cry myself to sleep realizing that I struggle to even make an impression on a trivia hostess.

Waitresses receive a milder version of that treatment from me. Usually the conversation revolves around drinks and food that they like because that is the easy in. Their paycheck is dependent on their ability to deal with my awkward advances, so I hold the power.

That’s really why I fantasize about the women of the food service/customer service industry. I want to have some semblance of power – something I achieve rarely in my day to day life – so I force myself into situations where the possibility of powerlessness on my part is small and therefore the only other option is taking control.

Afterward I always feel gross. It’s because control and power don’t fit me – it’s like ingesting a bunch of chocolate, but the chocolate has chili powder and laxatives in it. It feels good for a second, but you can sense something is wrong, then later you just feel gross and regret what you did as you sit on the toilet wishing G-d would end your misery.