New York

“He’ll Be Perfect When 3:30 Rolls Around”


That’s what my friend and I say whenever we spot someone in a bar who’s not exactly hot or even lukewarm, but who’ll surely look much closer to human come closing time. It’s amazing how a few drinks and the passage of time can make an ordinary zhlub look like Josh Hartnett, if only you have the patience and the imagination to wait long enough. Alas, there’s a problem: That person isn’t standing around going, “OK, someone thinks I’ll look good at 3:30. Let me just stay here till then in case they need me for a desperation fuck.” There’s no way to glue them in place till the witching hour makes them more palatable. So to be realistic, you sometimes have to cash your taco chips in before that and go home with someone who might also be substandard but who at least provides a guaranteed warm body before things get too dicey. So my rule is: If the 330 A.M. person is, let’s say, a 5, your 130 mate should be at least a five and three quarters and should also have enough available cash to chip in for half the cab. Sound reasonable? Of course, you could always just go home alone. (Kidding!)

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