Most of my "hitting on" experience comes in the passive voice: I'm hit on by scoutmasters and fifth-grade boys at summer camp more often than I hit on anyone. So I'm not really "experienced" at this, not really "good" at this. But Marine recruiters were on campus, and I was on a dare (of sorts).
I saw them in the cafeteria at lunch, and when I was done eating I went to the computer lab to print some things out for my two o'clock class. I logged onto gmail and noticed that Jason, my Marine friend from camp, was online. "Tan shirt, blue pants, red stripe. Is that you?" I asked him. He confirmed that yes, these were Marines, and I could see him nodding proudly. He told me I should tell them they should have worn their blues.
Blues, he told me, were the dress uniform for the Marines. "In basic, they told us that women drop their clothes when they see Marines in their blues." I figured that either they looked really nice or really awful. I asked. "Are you kidding?" he asked. "Blues are sexy as hell!"
My mission, I realized, was not merely to pass on an inside message from one Marine to the next, but to hit on the Marine recruiters.
"I'm gonna go do it. I'll be right back," I told Jason. And I signed off.
One of the recruiters was sitting at a table having what looked like a serious conversation with a student; the other was leaning on a chair and chatting with a couple girls. I couldn't approach either one right now with something like this. I stood across the way and glanced over my Latin flashcards.
Finally, the one who had been chatting with the girls left them and wandered over to the table they had set up. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and went over.
"Hello," I said. An innocent way to begin a conversation.
"How's your brother doing?" he asked.
I looked again. It was Joe's friend Louis.
Mission failed.
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