On Wingmanship (excerpt)

This is from something larger I'm hard at work on:

The art of playing wingman (and it is an art) is as much self-sacrifice as any charitable act can be. The best wingman is a martyr who facilitates conversation between two people by making him or herself completely sexless in the transaction. I learned the craft from my best friend who, back in New York, was unwittingly the most effective wingman ever.

His act was a combination of Dustin Hoffman from Rain Man (just as endearing but wittier and less gauche) and a slightly less assaulting version of Lenny from Of Mice and Men. He’d stride right up to a group of girls at a bar and, thinking himself suave, would start dancing or say something unbelievably corny with a stunning amount of confidence. On average, he’d earn himself about 30 seconds before being ejected during which time the rest of us would approach the group as if to reel him back from intruding. When he was safely out of earshot, we’d apologize for him a little bit and instantly seem both rational and safe to the girls in question. I’m not sure if he ever actually found out that we were constantly betraying him, but because he seemed so unfazed by rejection, we figured that probably didn’t matter. Such is the art: managing tenderness and confidence while battling a minor streak of social autism and the sting of disloyal friends.