I saw him coming towards me.
Eyes locked and a determined walk caused a little voice in me to go, ‘Uh-oh, here we go,’ a voice that thousands, if not millions, of women before me have heard as they anticipate being approached by a man they’d rather not.
I braced myself.
‘Are you alone?’
Relieved at being given such an easy escape, I quickly answered, ‘No, my friend’s in the bathroom.’
I was off the hook.
He didn’t miss a beat as he murmured in what I suspect he considered seductive tones, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time, ‘You are a very beautiful woman.’
He pushed something into my hand that I took as a way to distract myself from rolling my eyes in such a large circle, I gave myself a headache.
As he retreated I looked at what he’d given me. It was a card with his name and phone number. His business title, ‘Gentleman Escort.’
I looked at it in astonishment. I had been approached by a male escort!
The idea of it. My, my…
I allowed myself a little chortle. Another tale to add to my life story of adventure, curiosity and occasional mayhem.
Another tale not to tell my grandchildren.
I was in Atlanta airport, dressed for flying, when this happened.
Now, I’m no Hollywood star, paps snapping me as I walk through the building with my sunglasses on.
I wear baggy sweats, no makeup and tennis shoes when I fly. Not, I imagine, attire suited for a date with a male escort.
And certainly not beautiful.
Now I can see, just, that this man might appeal to a certain type of lady who would like a younger male companion for dinner.
And I’ve been told that some women prefer the company, and other benefits a male escort can provide, to a relationship.
Although I’ve never personally met any.
But even if I were the kind of woman who responded to the open-necked shirt, collar splayed wide, gold chain and handlebar moustache type of man (honestly, he looked like a porn star from the 80s – not that I know much about that kind of thing,) I simply could not see how he would be successful.
Given that I was in the departure area.
I had baggage with me. A boarding pass in my hand. I was clearly about to get on a flight.
Where did he think he was going to take me? The café in the airport lounge?
I mulled this over and over on my flight to California. There was a fundamental flaw in his marketing strategy.
An airport might be a novel place to meet single women with discretionary income especially during the day when the bars are closed and he has nothing to do.
But he didn’t think it all the way through.
All he had to do was take a few steps and place himself in the arrivals hall. He might have met a slew of women, arriving in Atlanta on business, lonely in the evenings, craving a man with a gold chain and a handlebar moustache.
I’ve learned that generally in life, 20% of my efforts take me 80% towards my goal. And 80% of my efforts might net me the final few percentage points.
So where am I going to put my energy and for how long? Do we need to get all the way up the mountain to see the view or is halfway just fine?
In our male escort’s case he needed to go all the way. Meeting the right women in the wrong location meant total failure. He had the right idea but spacing the final stage made the difference between a date and a bust.
P.S. The man in the image accompanying this blog post is clearly not a representation of the aforementioned escort. I just thought he was, as the Americans say, easier on the eye.
Is there a slight change you can make that might make all the difference to achieving your goals? Or will it work for you to get 80% of the way there with 20% of the effort? Have you ever encountered a male escort or was it just my lucky day? Let me know in the comments!
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