On Valentine’s Day this year I was in West Seattle, signing a lease on my new apartment. Afterwards, I went out to a bar with my friend Amy Jane for dinner, and witnessed something rather interesting. A few minutes after we seated ourselves at one end of the bar, the door opened and in walked a man. He looked about thirty, had glasses, a shaved head, and shorts under his t-shirt and jacket, despite it not really being shorts weather. He eventually seated himself at the far end of the bar, next to a pretty young woman who was reading something on her phone.

The man ordered a Pabst Blue Ribbon and a glass full of ice, and proceeded, to my horror, to drink his beer on the rocks.  I immediately decided his name had to be Chad.

Amy Jane and I returned to our conversation but soon abandoned it once we realized a high drama was unfolding. We watched, fascinated, as Chad then spent the next twenty-five minutes trying to psych himself up to talk to the young woman sitting next to him.

It began subtly, somewhat creepily, as he slowly inched his bar stool closer and closer to hers until they were practically touching shoulders. He then proceeded to stare at her, occasionally breaking to glance around the bar as if he was wondering if people were noticing (they were) and then focus once again on her, doubtlessly hoping she would crack under pressure and strike up conversation. No doubt hardened over years of men ogling her, the young woman remained unfazed, keeping strict attention on her cell phone and never wavering for so much as an instant.

After a bit, Chad stood up behind his bar stool and simply hung around, alternating between glancing at the door and returning his attention to the young woman, hoping that the sight of him getting ready to leave would prompt her to say something. Instead, the young woman went to use the restroom, so Chad sat back down, facing her, trying desperately to catch her eye when she returned to goad her into saying hello, but she carefully avoided his gaze and returned to her cell phone and drink.

Finally, resigning himself to the fact that she would not start the conversation, he turned to face the bar and began actively trying to figure out something to say. The next eight minutes ticked by as he mouthed words to himself, practiced a few hand gestures, and grimaced. Three separate times I thought he had it in him, as he took a deep breath and turned to face her, ready to say something, only to panic at the last second and turn back away without saying a word.

Eventually he simply gave up, paid his tab, and walked out. The bartender immediately came over to the young woman and apologized.

I wanted to share this story not because it’s particularly funny, but actually because I found it incredibly sad. Sure, Chad was being a creepy douchebag, and it’s generally a bad idea to go out and try to hit on people on Valentine’s Day…but on the flip side, here was guy, 30, single on Valentine’s Day, he goes out to a bar and spends nearly 30 minutes not even able to work up the courage to say a single word…not even a “Hello.”

I would close with an inspirational message on rising above this, but honestly, I identified a bit too much with Chad. I try to keep my creepiness down, and I have far too much self-respect to drink PBR, but I’ve been there: wanting desperately to tell someone how I feel but too neurotic and self-conscious to say anything. And eventually choosing just to walk away silently because I’m not willing to take a risk that isn’t even a risk itself, where the worst that can be said is “No.”

So, I guess my inspirational message, if there was one, is simply this: don’t be like me, and especially don’t be like Chad.  If you get rejected, well, that’s going to happen. Simply knowing the answer is better than the crippling self-loathing because you could never muster the courage to say a few words. In short,

Carpe that fucking diem.

Also, avoid PBR.