Mentoring Program

Though I'd only worked one day this week and didn't do anything anyone would actually consider work, Big Ben, Hyphy, and I docked ourselves on the strip afterward for Friday happy hour.

Our waitress was a cute Hispanic chick with a curvacious trunk. As she set down our drinks, Big Ben nonchalantly responded, "Thanks." He paused briefly and followed up, "You're the best."

She smiled ear-to-ear and made a shoulder-squeeze-dipping curtsy kind of move, "Thanks!"

So easy.

Happy hour stretched late into the night, and we were joined by the rest of the boys. Our party grew to fifteen in size, and we dominated the entire lounge area of the bar. The waitresses sat and drank with us. We ordered two liters of vodka.

A second waitress came in to help service our crowd, and she and the curtsy waitress hung out all night in our corner. The new waitress was slender and beautiful, a pair of red devil wings tattooed above her ass. Devil Wings delivered a bottle of vodka to our table and nudged Scarface, "Let me know if you guys need anything, all right?"

He said, "I will, I will. What's your name?" They exchanged some words, inaudible to me, and then he pulled her closer and they continued a conversation.

So easy.

As much as I pride myself in my ability to be social, approachable, and likeable, watching the guys at work will always humble me. Even when one of them has a newborn kid at home.

-

I spent Saturday night at another club with Tam and Bingo. Bingo, for as long as I can remember, has always been caught up in long-term relationships -- the kind that leaves a man without his balls.

He's without shackles, now, and I've taken it upon myself to help him regain his balls. He's receptive because, I assume, he's fed up with the bullshit he's been through for the past few years.

"It's about image," I told him over our first drink, "Think about a photo of some friends having a good time over dinner. You don't know anyone in the photo, you're making up your own stories about the photo. But, just by looking at that photo, you can tell some things about those people -- there's always one guy that everybody is looking at, smiling at, talking to; he's the life of the party. There's always that one guy that's part of the background, probably looking in some off-direction or texting on his phone."

Bingo was replying to a text message; I stopped him.

"Imagine your life in a series of photos," I continued, "Every moment you are out, you are living a photo. Be the guy that's the life of the party in every photo. Every girl that looks in our direction sees me as the guy that's talking, that's making hand motions. You're the guy listening, looking up at me. I'm the leader up in this motherfucker. You're the bitch right now. You don't want to be the bitch."

The waitress tapped me on the shoulder and whispered into my ear, "Do you guys need anything while I'm here?" I politely declined and with a smile. She responded with her own smile and left.

"That waitress didn't even bother to look at you, did you see that? Quit being a bitch."

Bingo straightened his posture to look more alive.

"It's about confidence," I declared, "It's about keeping your shoulders back and your chin up and saying, 'I am the shit.' And believing it." I looked Bingo dead in the eyes, "Never. Break. Eye. Contact. That's a sign of confidence. Some guys like to blitz -- they approach the girl as soon as they see them or they lose their balls. That works, too. But I don't -- I'll break her down from here. You look a girl dead in the eyes, until she smiles or until she shies away -- either way, you win."

My eyes trailed off to a pair of girls walking toward the bar. One had whorish bleached hair and a tight, sand-colored dress.

"It's about confidence," I repeated, "It's about walking into a room and truly believing that every girl wants you more than you want her. And I mean, you have to really believe it, 'cause it can't be faked. Girls can smell that shit. You see that girl over there?" I pointed at the whore in the sand dress. She looked up to catch me staring and pointing at her. "That bitch wants me. Watch." I maintained eye contact, and the words I said were inaudible to her. Her eyes shied away, and she broke into a coy smile.

Tam got out of his seat and pulled Bingo up with him. He gestured toward the dance floor, at two girls dancing together. "I'm working the one in pink," he declared, "You get her friend; let's put the lecture to work."

Tam and Bingo went to the floor, and Tam blitzed the girl in pink. Bingo hung back bashfully and watched -- he hesitated too long and never gathered himself to talk to the friend. Tam worked his girl, and after a few minutes, she began to dance close to him. He looked over to see if Bingo had seen, and after being acknowledged, they walked away from the girl.

-

We went to a diner afterward.

I started up again, "What I'm trying to show you -- I want you to understand this clearly -- is not how to meet girls or sleep with them. This is not how to get a girlfriend, and Lord knows, this is not how to keep one. What I'm showing you is how to be likeable, not just to girls, not just to Tam or myself, but to everyone.

"And this is not just going to help you with girls. This is valuable shit in your social life and your professional life. Everywhere you want to go, you'll get there easier if people like you.

"With that in mind, I want you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you. We are not malicious people. We are not doing this to get what we want and leave rubbles in our tracks. We are men.

"So listen carefully: no man is truly a man unless he leaves this world a better place than it was before he came. Some people do this by building hospitals in Africa, some adopt skinny babies from Asia. I am not those people. I believe that the quality of this world is measured in large by the quality of its people. It is therefore my job -- and yours -- to make sure that every man walks away from you a better man than he was before he met you.

"Apply this to every aspect of your life, and you will be likeable, you will be approachable, you will get girls, girls, girls. But above all, you will be a man. Let no girl walk away from you less than what she was before she met you. If nothing else, teach her a new song.

"It's the little things that make differences you could never imagine. Little things like holding the door open or saying 'thank you' or 'bless you' that could make or break someone's day.

Make someone's day."

The waitress, an aging black lady, came out and delivered our food. As she took a step away from the table, I said to her, "Thanks. You're the best." I ripped a page straight from Big Ben's book. But not for flirting.

She turned back with a pause and placed a hand over her chest, completely dumbfounded by the words of encouragement in the given environment. "Thank you!" she finally spewed after a moment of speechlessness.

"Little things," I repeated to Bingo after the waitress disappeared in the back, "Make someone's day."