A Nice Guy's Valentine

A book, an idea and blind willingness to embarass himself lead one man on the search for a date

By Joshua D Scroggin

I woke up Monday without a valentine.

No one to write a poem for. Nobody to give chocolates. No one to kiss.

I know what you’re thinking. “The editor of The Collegian? He’s so cool. He doesn’t have a sweetheart?”

Nope. Not this year.

And I was this close to being ready to accept it, but then I realized maybe I just need a small attitude adjustment—tweak one or two of my behavioral habits—then BLAM! Girls would be hanging on me like the monkey bars.

I just didn’t know what these behavioral habits were. Lucky for me, the publishers at ajakal publishing knew exactly what to do—they sent a copy of “The Nice Guys’ Guide to Getting Girls” to The Collegian for a review.

What better way to review a self-help book than to try it out?

I decided I would read the book cover to cover, find some women, spew my newfound charm and see if I could get a valentine.

Now, I consider myself more of a “good guy” than a “nice guy,” so I wasn’t sure the message would translate. But I resolved to do my best nice-guy impersonation for this experiment.

My first step was to read the book, which I did. I made sure to read the chapter titled “The Nice Guys’ Guide to Performing Oral Sex” twice—very slowly. I thought, “If there is a girl who falls for the nice-guy routine, she’s getting the chapter 7.”

I was armed and dangerous after reading about how to make a woman squeal, and after I finished the text, it was time to find the ladies. I was on a quest for the almighty “contact info.”

I thought about it for a minute. The book gives tips on picking a bar and details how to pick up girls at the gym.

I only wanted to try out the new techniques on women I would normally want to date. Meaning: hot girls only.

Time was ticking so I disregarded the chapter about online dating. I needed to find the place where all the hot young single women hung around waiting for me to hit on them. The writers of the book thought it didn’t exist, but I know better.

All of the dime-piece shorties in Fresno are concentrated in one place—Fresno State. And since we’ve got our own social spots, I knew I wouldn’t even have to go far from campus.

I thought I’d try the gym pick-up first, but when I looked in my wallet, the fly that was supposed to buzz out was dead, so Bally’s was out.

But then someone told me there was a weightlifting gym on campus. I knew exactly what to say. I’d approach a woman in the middle of her first set and ask if I could work through, just like the book said. It was genius.

There was only one problem—the gym was harder to find than the Holy Grail. Problem number two quickly surfaced when I finally walked into the weight room after 15 minutes of wandering around the North Gym—like a ghost.

There were no women there.

In fact, there were only three people there, period. One older, balding gentleman mastering the military press, and two younger guys. It looked like they were sleeping on the incline press.

It was back to the book, and time to pick a bar.

Since there is only one bar on campus, my choices were limited. There was no time to hit my favorite weekend spots. The Pub in the mid afternoon was going to have to do.

I brushed up on the chapters that explained how to convey interest in a conversation and how not to talk about yourself.

I studied the appendix of questions to ask a woman that you just met.

“ So, are you from <this city>?”

“ So, did you go to school around here?”

“ Are there any movies out now that you want to see? (Try to be subtle; don’t imply too much)”

I walked into the Pub and went in for the kill—nice-guy style.

I sat down at a table with a woman.

The book said to smile a lot. If you smile a lot, women will think your eyes are gorgeous. It’s some kind of natural instinct principle or something like that.

I asked all the right questions, kept up the conversation, smiled a lot. I was on fire like I have never been in my life.

She packed up her things and left—fleeing in anger.

No worries. I just looked around the pub for another hottie to move in on. I was just about to walk over to a girl sitting alone by the window, but then her friend walked in and took my chair.

I thought, “Maybe the pub wasn’t the right spot after all.” But it didn’t get much better when I walked across to the USU.

I was able to get some contact info, but I’m not sure. It might have been a ploy just to get me to leave—which I did.

So now it’s Friday, and I still don’t have a valentine.

I have today and tomorrow to land a sweetheart, and I’ve decided to throw the nice-guy principles out the window.

Because if there’s one thing that can be said about this whole experience—me striking out—it’s that you can’t take a “good guy” and turn him a “nice guy.” Women just don’t go for it.