Hi,

I wanted to give you my ideas for the Social Skydiving challenge without the hassle of signing up for the comment systems. So, I hope you see this here.

I have a lot of ideas, most of which are probably junk. But, your blog struck a chord in me, so I've written them out. I've not proofread much, so hopefully most of it makes sense.

PROLOGUE:

I think the most stressfully embarrassing social situation I've ever faced was one time at a Renaissance Faire. If you're not privy, a Ren Faire basically consists of hordes of hippies pretending they're from the 15th century with questionable accuracy. For patrons, it's a campy carnival of perverts with pathetic cockney accents. For workers, drunken weekend parties ensue betwixt the adults (armed with the usual hippie supplies, if you know what I mean (drugs!!)) while the children are left to wallow weekend after shower-less weekend. Your imagination probably does a pretty good job of filling in the holes.

As such a child of some Ren Faire workers, I spent my weekends of each Faire Season dressing like a serf, playing with wooden weapons, watching the stage shows again & again, and occasionally pausing to help run my family's booth (a historically inaccurate but fun game).

At some point in the season, we attended a seminar about hawking our booths to the passerby, taught by a long-time Fair veteran. He was of a kind; I don't expect just saying "suave Ren Faire guy" suffices, so I'll try to expound. He was one of those charming guys, not old enough for it to be creepy and not young enough for it to be cliché. A magician, which in Ren Faire terms translated as "cool", for whatever reason. Clean-looking, talented, and effortlessly proceeded with the charmingly light-aired social interaction of the Faire. It's kind of weird to explain. It's as though Ren Faire gave guys carte blanche to be womanizers.

But he made his lessons in attracting people towards you seem effortless. Of particular note was his observation that people came to the Ren Faire to be immersed in the campy sort of atmosphere. That a powerful selling device was merely sexual appeal: the women certainly knew it, since they wore bodices that prominently created cleavage no one knew they had, and the guys knew it because so many got away with being perverts. Chicks worked the ale stand, goading drunken men into tips, and guys invited 14-year-old girls in small white summertime shirts to the water-dunking game. So, an underlying tool of the seminar was that you could "woo the women". That was the exact phrase; it stuck in my head.

He demonstrated how coolly he could proceed to flatter a woman, gently offering his hand, with a bow, to the accepting lady. She passes her hand into his that he may raise it to his lips and deliver a simple kiss. He locks his eyes on hers, giving a gentle squeeze to the hand, tempting a reciprocal squeeze. "Oh, you have a nice grip, m'lady. Surely you could [throw a dart | ring the bell | something vaguely related to the booth he was advertising]."

Just like that, he had his customer, and they both had fun being a part of the situation. It struck a chord in me somehow: that's easy! And so, the first of the embarrassments start as I confidently assert -- aloud to my family -- how I can apply the lesson in helping get customers. When I get my clothes wet and look frumpy, I start lamenting how I won't be able to "woo the women". etc.

Predictably, I sat on my laurels, watching female after female pass our game while I did nothing. My dad asks if I'm ever going to do it. I assure him that I will -- that I just hadn't worked up the gall yet. He tells me to just go out there. Still, I wait.

Sick of waiting. Swallow my fear. First group of appropriately-aged women pass by, and I pounce. In a slur of awkward grabbing-at-the-words, I realize how I should have thought of something to fucking say. From what I remember, it went something like:

"Aye, but for the...you are surely the l-loveliest lady to, uh, grace our...beloved Fa...