Lost Art of the Pick-Up Line

As an Asian female hitting up a Caucasian-dominated bar scene in coastal Orange County, I've had the opportunity misfortune of being the victim of a slew of poorly executed pick-up lines directed at my race. I've long since learned to let it roll off (it helps that I'm married and can just laugh as drunk men fumble with making what they think are passable attempts at charm).

But seriously ... a little creativity doesn't hurt. If I didn't have a husband, I'd be seriously concerned at my future prospects with some of the offensive-ish pick-up lines I've been subject to over the years. Guys, I get it — it's hard to approach women in bars. But apparently it's more appropriate to ask me what "kind" of Asian I am rather than finding out what I do for a living. Shudder. Yet again, I'm glad I tied the knot early in life. It makes these kinds of encounters more funny than annoying.

The strangest/most hilariously awkward pick-up lines have actually come when I'm at Irish bars — go figure. Just yesterday, in honor of St. Patrick's Day, Annie suggested grabbing a green beer at the Auld Dubliner in Tustin. I'm game, so off we go. After a few minutes of catching up, a little guy dressed in green comes over and clinks glasses with us, then walks away. His buddy comes by a little after that to play wingman, and decides to go the race route. I've had more than a few discussions about my ethnicity, but this one really had to top the list of the most uncomfortable, ungraceful pick-up lines I've ever experienced.

Convo at the Auld Dubliner: "Annie? What kind of name is that? Korean? Vietnamese?" Huh? American? "Oh like little orphan Annie? With curly red hair?" Yeah ... no.

Also:

Frequently when I'm out drinking: "So what kind are you?" Ugh.

Nonsensical, during the U.S. Open: "You're Asian. You must surf." Uh ...

At yet another Irish bar: "You're not Irish." Really? Can someone get me a mirror?


Happy St. Patrick's Day.