It took only a few months of living in Los Angeles to learn that many unemployed actors and writers spend their days at Urth Caffé, hopelessly hitting on women. Over the past decade of stopping for my morning coffee, I have watched the same faces grow older and more pathetic with time. It seems their dating strategy has failed.
The other night at Osteria Mozza, a man with an English accent approached me. He was divorced, lived in the Hollywood Hills (not in the Bird Streets, like DiCaprio) and worked in finance as a consultant – an entrepreneur of sorts. What’s that expression? Entrepreneur is French for unemployed? I don’t know what vocations he was currently entre, but it was obvious he wanted to get entre the sheets avec moi. For those who didn’t study languages, that would be a French/English dictionary you’d require at this time. I like Brits. They are salt-of-the-earth people who know how to make a proper cup of tea, so I gave him my number in exchange for his card. He was going out of town until Tuesday and promised to be in touch upon his return.
While he was away, I performed my due diligence. His card provided two websites for finance related businesses that sounded dubious – along the lines of “bigcheaploans” and “investinmycompany”. The video spokesperson was a milquetoast girl with no camera presence who shared his last name, as either wife or sister. Standing in front of graphs and pie charts that a sixth grade student could construct, she stiffly recited a vague speech with the subliminal message: give Mr. Pie Chart all your money. Both websites reeked of a Ponzi scheme and made me wonder if their founder was not a former employee of Bernie Madoff. After all, pie charts are the same level of sophistication as the dot-matrix printer Madoff used to print his clients’ statements.
On Monday afternoon, I stopped in at Urth Caffé for a Spanish latte – love the coffee, loathe the clientele. Lo and behold, Mr. Pie Chart was outside nursing a cappuccino and hitting on the girl next to him. Different venue, same routine. When she turned him down, he moved onto the next. The following day, Mr. Pie Chart text-invited me to an industry presentation and to go out for drinks. Presentation of what – more charts and graphs being held up by his ex-wife? I declined without comment.
“Why? Why won’t you go out with me?” he whined by text like a spurned teenage girl.
You mean, besides the fact that you look like a serial killer/unemployed actor who hasn’t showered or shaved in days? And besides having the most unprofessional websites I have ever seen for someone in finance? How about the fact that you say you’re out of town until Tuesday and on Monday I find you at Urth Caffé hitting on every passing girl. Nothing but integrity with this bloke.
“You gave me no feedback,” he continued pleading for a response. “Why don’t you bond with someone you trust and fall in love. It’s a wonderful thing.”
“Don’t trust you. Not gonna bond with you,” I finally replied, trying to save him the embarrassment of stating the obvious. I'm not some silly twit wannabe actress, Kaballah-following, yoga-practicing, lost-soul chick living in a one-bedroom apartment in WeHo. I’m not going to fall for some bragadocious deadbeat with an English accent and a cheesy website. Make that two cheesy websites.
“I don’t understand,” he whined. “Why won’t you see me?”
By this point, I was getting bored, so I dismissively texted, “You’re not in my league.” He tried to argue the point – always a good idea. My closing remark was this, “I’m just another number in your phone that’s not gonna get you laid. You might as well hit delete.”