Monday 14th September, central London. I’ve got a week off from work and took the decision that I’m gonna day game every single day. No excuses, I’m gonna turbocharge my stats on approaches. It doesn’t matter how I feel, or if my wings are busy, I’m gonna go solo and just plough through.
I spend the first hour in Cafe Nero reading. It’s still not quite lunch time and Covent Garden is deserted so I don’t feel like it’s sarge-avoidance. Finally I step outside and straight into HB8 Belgian Dancer. I open weakly but she stops and chats. She’s in a hurry to get to the Pineapple for a dance class. I know something about that stuff so I ramble on about dance, contemporary dance, how my dancer-ex had a careless grace in her movements from all the dancing. Blah blah blah. I’m not really hooking and the number close attempt is a disaster.
It only takes a few minutes to shrug that off and I see HB7 Dusky walking through the market. I stops briefly but either doesn’t speak English or is seriously unimpressed. She smiles, waves her hand dismissively and disappears without a word.
Next is HB6 English carrying boxes of shopping. She doesn’t stop but smiles, thanks me and says she’s late getting back to work. One more open gets me a stop but nothing doing.
Damn. After a run of awesome form the last few days I’m suddenly 0/4 and really getting inside my head. My forehead actually feels tight, such is my poor state.
OK, I’m on Shaftesbury Avenue now just past Forbidden Planet and HB7 Asian comes towards me. My chode-mind is telling me not to bother. But I bother. She stops. Whoah, she’s young. Just started her first day as an intern in a fashion magazine. We chat a bit. I’m too talky and too outcome dependent but she doesn’t seem to care. She checks the text she was writing as I approached so I tell her off for not paying attention. She giggles and hair twirl IOIs.
Note to self – Set arbitrary boundaries and tell a girl off for breaching them.
I number close easy and let her get back to work. An hour later I text “Your first day and now I probably wrecked your concentration. Oops. Krauser”. Nothing back. I’ll follow up with a call tomorrow evening.
I get myself blown out a few more times on Oxford Street before HB8 Brit gives me here Facebook. It’s weird cos the whole time I’m thinking she’s wanting to get away and I’m struggling and just talking into the space, yet it’s five minutes or more in set and after getting her Facebook I keep her another few minutes talking about her Geography uni course she’s about to start her second year in. 90% odds its a flake.
The last sarge of the day is a pleasant failure. I open HB8 Lithuanian in Carnaby Street. She’s ambling around aimlessly which I take as a generalised approach invitation. I’m so chode now that it’s written into every fibre of my being but she still stops, smiles, hair twirls and indulges me for ten minutes. I can almost visualise a hologram of a graph between us showing a downward slant as I continue to DLV through the whole thing. I try to close and she’s “I don’t want to exchange details”. Fair enough, on that performance she really shouldn’t have.
So what happened today? Raw numbers is 10 approaches, 1 number, 1 Facebook. In itself not too shabby though way below my usual hit rate. Learning points?
– I felt crap but took right action anyway. Good work
– Even with shit state I still had good enough fundamentals to get one decent number
– I didn’t worry too much opening sets. The poor state was once in-set. Only a few months ago I wouldn’t even open five sets when in good state
– While in set I knew consciously all the mistakes I was making, even as I couldn’t stop making them. The biggest one was outcome dependence. I really wanted to get numbers and was worried the girls would walk away and leave me feeling shit. I think it’s cos I’d had that 100% run and got too enamoured with my own faux-greatness.
Lesson learned. Back out tomorrow.