Let’s set some ground rules [UPDATED]

Correction: The spelling of Kerry-Ann’s name has been corrected from the incorrect “Carrie-Anne”.

The scene:

Last Sunday evening at Kickass Karaoke, upstairs at the Rivoli. I’m returning to my table from performing Nine Inch Nails’ Head Like a Hole. Sitting to my left is a friend I’ll refer to as Dude, and sitting across the table from me are Sam and Kerry-Ann. Meryle and Erik are sitting nearby, dressed for Disco Night, looking as if they’ve fallen out of a 1977 high school yearbook.

Sam: That was great!

Me: Thank you!

Sam: By the way, you should turn ar–

Dude: Shhhhhh!

Sam (sheepishly): Sorry.

Me: Huh?

Dude: It’s nothing. Don’t worry.

---

Later…

Sam: Joey, I think you should kn–

Dude: Shush!

Sam: But —

Dude: Shhhhhh!

Sam (sheepishly): Okay.

Me: Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?

Dude: Later. Let’s see how this develops.

Me: Whatever. I’m going to buy this round. Who wants what?

---

Later…

Dude: See the brunette with the black T-shirt? She’s been checking you out all night.

Me: Why didn’t you mention this before?

Dude: Because I didn’t want to interfere. This should just happen naturally. The girls wanted to tell you, but I told them to let it play out — if you knew, you’d act differently and maybe it might not work out.

Me: Mmm-hmmm.

What Dude said sounded like such complete nonsense that I dismissed it as him having a little fun with me.

Minutes later, a skinny punk rock girl would walk directly up to me, make eye contact and start dancing against my chair. You know what happened afterwards.

---

The scene:

Last night, after the Radiohead concert.

Sam: You know, that woman at karaoke really was checking you out.

Me: Karaoke? What woman?

Sam: The woman at the bar. Kerry-Ann and I were watching her check you out, and we both agreed she was into you.

Me: Why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were my friend!

Sam: We wanted to, but [Dude] told us not to. He was really forceful about it, saying that if you knew, your chances would be ruined.

Me: Wait a minute. When he said it, he used that “if you’re aware of it, you’ll ruin it” bullshit. I thought he was kidding because of that. You mean to tell me that he wasn’t?

Sam (sheepishly): No. Uh…you want me to tell you next time?

Me: Yes, please. Oh, and another thing…

Sam (sheepishly): Uh-huh?

Me: [Dude] must die.

---

No, Dude, I’m not going to kill you. Even though the Universal Code of Guys gives me the right to do so — and pee on the corpse, too! — under such circumstances.

What you did was with the best of intentions and in the spirit of true friendship. Perhaps you were worried about violating the golden rule of baseball that you should never mention to a pitcher that he’s on a no-hitting streak, because once he knows, he’ll fumble and the streak will end. Perhaps you were worried that by “interfering”, you might make the same kind of mistake that Steve Bartman made (although Bartman would not do so until two evenings later).

But really, “let things happen naturally”? The natural outcome for 99% of bar and club-goers is a state of equilibrium, which is for nothing to happen at all. No conversations, no exchanges of phone numbers, no nuthin’.

When this happens again — and I mean when, not if, bucko — I want to be informed. Please. Have some faith that I will know what to do with the information. After all, outside of 1984, the saying isn’t “Ignorance is power”.

Here are the new rules. Be assured I will do the same for you!

• If my fly is down, I would like you to tell me.
• If I’ve left my car’s headlights on after parking it, I would like you to tell me.
• If I’m about to cross the street and a large truck driven by a crystal meth-smoking man in a Pikachu costume is running a red light and about to plow me down, I would like to tell me.
• If a girl is checking me out, I WOULD LIKE YOU TO PLEASE TELL ME.