I was at some late-night restaurant shithole with a girl. We were at a booth but I was sitting next to her, hinting to the masses that we are probably not brother and sister. Our food came and I started eating when a random guy I’ve never seen before came up to our table. He showed up with the kind of confidence that only makes sense if you have zero respect for timing. I tilted my head up to see what the fuck this guy could possibly want.

He looked at me with a gigantic smile and said, “Where are you from?” There is an unspoken rule that you do not disturb a man and his bitch when food is on the table. The whole setup was obvious enough that even a stupid guy should have taken the hint, but he kept pushing anyway. I said, “You see we’re eating right?” He is still smiling. “Yeah but your face. I, uh, was just curious.”

This guy then does the same thing to the next table where there was one girl and three guys. Fifteen minutes later, he is having a one-on-one conversation with the girl in a different language while the guys sit there in silence, twiddling their thumbs. The waitress drops our check and I ask her who the guy is. “Oh him, he’s the busboy.” A busboy with stains on his shirt bitched out three yuppie betas whose clothing is worth more than his monthly salary. This is the most incredible moment

If you can not neutralize a busboy, granted, the ballsiest busboy in the world, a person whose job is to pick up after you, why are you still alive? The lesson is simple: confidence without permission can move faster than status with hesitation. That little exchange said more about male behavior than a thousand polished pickup lines ever could.