Rock Solid Game

At the time I was doing a field sales job for a technology
company of sorts. 2 days of the working week I’d be in the office. 3 days I’d
be on the train. I was OK at the job. The product in hindsight was awful and at
the time I thought it was below par in many ways but had some good tools, so
I’d sell it as cheaply as I could in order to get a sale. I averaged a sale per
month, where two sales per month would be considered a home run.  

With all that train time I’d read The Game with in a day or
two. A trip to Manchester and a trip to Jersey did for that. I read the game
then read it again making notes of all the things that had made an impact on
me. I was well prepared to begin sarging but had not yet. The notion of game
had taken over my daily consciousness, but not as a passion, just in the way
any new fad does. It hadn’t replaced anything of importance in my life. Music
and my job were still number one. Two weeks had gone by and I’d had very brief
first-hand experience of pickup and three days on the road with the book.

 I’d mentioned the
whole thing to friends but found no one who seemed like they wanted to explore
it and I got the sense that I needed to do this away from everyone I knew
.There’d be some elements of growth and personal change to deal with and having
anchors from my old life would probably not be very helpful, so I went online
to look for a wing.

I can’t remember where I looked and I can’t remember the ad,
if I posted or replied. I just remember that I arranged to meet Mark one Friday
in a pub called the Tottenham just outside Tottenham Court Road tube station.

I got there early. I’d dressed as peacocky as I could, which
was not very. I ordered a Cranberry juice as I’d resolved to try to do this
sober. I had no nerves. I could not wait to get started. I was curious what
Mark would be like, how good he would be, if I’d be good enough or if I’d hold
him back. I wondered what kind of weirdo I was meeting and then realised he’d
be thinking the same. I wondered what kind of weirdo I was.

Mark turned up15 minutes later. He was dressed in smart and
classy Friday night gear. White shirt, tan shoes and an eye catching grey
jacket, semi military, semi Dick Tracy. He was a good looking guy, in a Daniel
Craig kind of way. He was a little shorter than I am, I being 6’3 means most
people are. He worked in finance, had a military background. He liked a few
drinks and had a massive sense of adventure. He looked at my Cranberry juice
and ordered us two Johnny Walker and Ginger. We talked Game. He had charisma,
he laughed a lot and it was genuine. I liked him immediately ans was surprised
he was on a pickup forum.

We’d both done very little Game. We’d seeked each other out
as a means to find someone to focus doing pickup properly. Not some old friend
with whom we’d give it a half hearted go and quickly fall bak into old habits.
This was a genuine attempt to learn a new skill. I remember noting that neither
of us had a problem with women. We were both in this for the kicks. Mark had
got out of a fairly long term relationship with someone he obviously loved. I
think his thing was that to get over her he felt he’d have to find someone so
high and special that he’d need superhuman skills to achieve it.

The night progressed as we bounced around various bars in
London’s West End. I remember very little. It basically amounted to walking
into a bar, getting a drink, checking for a set, then plotting who was going to
open and what the opener would be. As night went, it was successful. Mark had
some great attraction material and was good at opening. I was a lot more
studied and knew the process better. We opened probably 5 sets each. Most girls
were interested but we didn’t know how to keep it going. We’d ultimately eject
or let them eject after a while. We were just learning and loving every minute
of it.

‘What’s your name’ he asked me.

‘James’

‘No, you need a pickup name. You can’t put your real name on
forums and field reports.

‘Oh. Well, Jimmy Jambone will do. It’s a joke name a friend
gave me once’.

‘Yeah it’s pretty funny. Well I am Humphrey G. It’s a long
story’.

We ordered drinks and drank to Jimmy and the G man just as
two girls appeared. G walked over to one, a cute small Russian brunette, picked
her up, span her around and walked off with her. That was the last I saw of him
that night. I was left with her mate, a blonde, tall Russian. I’d peg her a 7.
I didn’t really need game to talk to her, drink and Jimmy had kicked in. We
spoke for about 10 minutes and I took her home.