Oh, Collin. Where do we even begin? The belief that dimples can move people and change the world. The constant need to be within 10 feet of a mirror for obsessive hair checks. The thought that both of those two points can lead to getting anything he wants. Wrong, oh, how wrong.
Our resident Deputy Dimple Douche as the boss called him last week, recently embarked on a solo adventure to a local night spot, a quest fueled by the twin desires of Friday night freedom and, apparently, a crippling fear of reaching for his wallet. What followed was a masterclass in… well, let's just call it "determined frugality" and leave it at that.
The grapevine tells us Collin arrived at the club ready to unleash his most potent weapon: the art of the dimple flirt. Now, Collin's flirting style can best be described as overconfidence with a side of ego. But on this particular night, he was a man on a mission. A mission to secure a complimentary cocktail. Why? He forgot his wallet at home and didn't feel like leaving to get it.
His target? The bartender -- the person in charge of drink dispensing. But who has the balls to just ask for a free drink? Certainly not Collin. In fact, it strokes his ego more if his charm is rewarded with a freebie. But would it? Moreover, is it ever?
For a solid three hours, witnesses report, Collin laid siege with an arsenal of compliments, anecdotes and what can only be classified as "attempts" at charm. We're talking full-blown Collin here, folks. You've seen how he talks about himself on Instagram. How have you not felt sorry for him?
Sources close to the situation (OK, it was Collin himself), said that Collin's opening gambit involved a lengthy and slightly rambling explanation of why the bar's choice of glassware was "revolutionary." Apparently, the specific curve of the glass reminded him of a historical landmark, which he then proceeded to describe in excruciating detail.
Undeterred by the bartender's polite but firm lack of engagement, Collin escalated his game. He regaled with tales of his (mostly fictional) adventures, peppered with observations about the surprisingly complex socio-economic implications of garnishes. There might've even been an attempted magic trick involving a borrowed lime wedge and a surprisingly sticky napkin.
The sheer audacity of Collin's commitment to this free drink is, frankly, inspiring. He deployed every known weapon in his arsenal – from awkwardly delivered pick-up lines ("Is your name Wi-Fi? Because I'm feeling a connection!") to elaborate hypotheticals about running away together to open a llama farm in Peru. The bartender maintained an impressive level of professionalism, expertly mixing drinks and occasionally offering Collin a pity smile that could curdle milk.
Flashing the dimples, casually running his fingers through his own hair as he talked, had Collin believe he was making progess. Wrong, oh, how wrong. The next step? Taking off his shirt thinking his pale white body would up his game. (Do I need to do another, Wrong, oh, how wrong, or do you get the picture already?)
Three hours. Three hours of dedicated, unwavering flirtation -- and you can only imagine what a bartender is thinking when a solo dude sits in one spot for that long and doesn't order a goddamn thing. Three hours of Collin at his Collin-est. And in the end? Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. The bartender, though likely highly amused, remained unmoved. Collin, it seems, was destined to remain thirsty (in more ways than one), a casualty of his own forgetfulness and an unyielding belief in the power of his… everything.