A Historical Echo

It started in a pub.

That's how all good stories start, right? Especially when they start in Ireland. In fact, if that isn't the start to your story about Ireland, you're probably making it up.

So, it started in a pub.

When I met him, I was pretty unimpressed. He had short, spiky hair, a collared button down shirt and a hemp, seashell necklace. He looked like half of the guys that were in my English class Senior year.

When he opened his mouth, his voice was both blessed by an Irish accent, and cursed by a gamer lisp. I looked him over.

"So, tell me, I'm clearly not from around here," I said, "What is there to do in Galway on a Sunday night?"

"Well, you know Race Week started today, but ya know what I do, mate?"

"Lay it on me pal."

"I'm a pick-up artist, like that show on VH1"

"Uh-huh," he certainly stood out in Ireland. Prep hadn't caught on, but he looked like an average guy to me. Hell, I was pretty much wearing the same thing, "Like that creep, Mystery?"

"Yeah-yeah," His double agreement affirmed quickly.

"So what, you can like, pick up a girl..." I was at a loss for words, "Tactically?"

"Something like that, come upstairs."

I followed. We sat down at a table for an hour and a half while he asked me about my romantic history and explained something he called "The Emotional Progression Model".

"Relationships," he pontificated, "All share three common stages: attraction, comfort and seduction,"

The conversation diverted from mechanics of "The Game" to his own relationship past:

"I was in a relationship for two years, then she cheated on me and I was left back where I started. I was okay with women, but I heard about this book, and it changed everything."

I realized that my friend Lorcan, Erik Von Markovik (A.k.a. Mystery), and Neil Strauss (A.k.a. Style), all shared a common bond: discontent with their romantic lives, and a will to change it molecularly.

"Me and my mates are going out to a club later, you should come with us," and with that I was the American on another Irish adventure. Lorcan and his friends looked like any preppy kid you would see in America, and I fit in, but that made us all stand out.

"American fashion sense," he told me, "was still yet to really pick up in Ireland. It makes you stand out, and that's good for women." He called this "Pea-cocking". I, however, doubted this in a society which dresses its soon-to-wed members of society in awkward costumes to be paraded about Dublin. I, however, was the student.

We stepped into the club. It was surprisingly empty for a club, but given the lack of a club scene in Galway, Lorcan figured this to be a good night. One shot of Goldschlager later, we were crowded around a table. Slamming his hand on the table, he exclaimed, "Let's do this!" and turned to face his prey.

He spied a girl against a pillar, and pulled her on the dance floor. Within a minute, to The Fratelli's "Chelsea Dagger", no less, he was making out with her on the dance floor. Maybe there was something to all this after all.

"You've got to perform, otherwise you're just talking shite."

Fair enough.

I jumped onto the dance floor and pulled a girl to dance with me. Mirroring every move that Lorcan had done, to The Killer's "Mr.Brightside", I kissed a girl I had not shared a single word with. It was "vibe", or an amalgm of raw charisma and body language. I had vibed my way into a kiss-close.

I learned bits and pieces of their lexicon: DHV, IOI, vibe, kiss-close, seduction, state break, and most importantly: Lorcan. Lorcan was his real name, not a moniker like most other pick-up artists, but is also the Gaelic term translated as "Cruelty". Fitting.

At the end of the night, I was reeling. I was a lightweight, especially compared to the Irish company I kept, even though I had at least twenty pounds more on me, and as a result, I retired, but not before exchanging information. He was my one friend I had kept in touch with i Ireland.

I thought I was done with it all, just merely an amusing chapter in the book, but I was wrong, as I so often am.

I had told my Ireland stories at parties. I was the bard, the diplomat, who had excellent adventures in a far away land. The best of all was when I seduced a girl by explaining the very progression of a relationship, as Lorcan had explained to me. Piece by piece, I laid every stage down, giving examples, and being "in-state". I vibed. I story-told. I negged. I kino'd, and most of all, I escalated.

But this was just a distraction, I told myself. There was already mutual attraction. It was nothing. This was all hocus-pocus.

During my correspondence, I received an e-mail.

"Hey mate!

I know you're a little skeptical of this Pick-up thing, so I had something arranged for you. I'm good friends with one of the teachers in your area, so I had him make a little exception for you. If you're available, he'll let you sit in on his "bootcamp" for free, because I know you.

Don't worry about thanking me, the Guinness will be on you ;)

-L"

And just like that, I was on another adventure, only this time I knew exactly where it would end up, I just wasn't entirely sure how I'd get there.