I went to Cafe Citron with The Rookie on a recent Thursday night. It used to be one of the only Latin spots in the city, always packed with sweaty, aggressive Central American dudes, but so many new salsa spots have opened that it was barely half full this time.
There were three girls dancing in a tight circle near us, definitely the hottest ones there.
“I’m trying to think of my line,” Rookie said.
“Doesn’t matter, it’s a suicide mission right now. One girl won’t just stop dancing with her friends to talk to you.” I thought about it for a second and added, “A dancing approach could work.”
“I’ll just wait until one goes to the bathroom.”
“Or goes to the bar.”
One went to the bar. She was closest to me so I made a move. I tap tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around. “Excuse me but your salsa dancing seems like it’s from Colombia.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Just the movements. That’s how Colombian people dance to salsa.” I was making this up of course.
“No actually I’m from Brazil.”
Living in Brazil for six months has given me an automatic two minute conversation with B girls in the States, because they’re mildly curious about the where and why of my time there. I told this girl a few sentences in Portuguese and she’s smiling and asking me light questions, but I noticed her body was angled towards the bar, as if she wanted to walk away. To gauge her interest I said, “Sorry I didn’t mean to stop you on your way to getting a drink.” She was totally free to leave at that point without being rude. Instead she said, “No that’s fine.” I was getting ready to buckle down when her two friends simultaneously pulled her away from me in a coordinated attack.
I went back to my spot and was trying to understand the emotions I was feeling. It was a mixture of disappointment, annoyance, and confusion. Why would those girls do that? Didn’t they see she was having a nice conversation with a non-creepy guy? It’s not like I was trying to lead her to another part of the bar. I didn’t even start touching her yet.
It’s true I’ve been cockblocked in South America, but usually when doing throwaway approaches on the street or when talking to a girl who had a boyfriend I failed to spot. It has been about 14 months since getting assaulted with a cockblock of this caliber. Standing there with my warm Corona beer, I tried to remember back to when this used to be a common occurrence.
An hour later came closing time and the lights got brighter. I was walking out with the Rookie when he spotted the Brazilian leaving with her group. “I’ll try again,” I said.
I reapproached her in Portuguese. Before I could even finish my sentence, a new female friend wrapped her arm around her and led her away.
“Wow that was rude,” I said to the new cockblocker.
I don’t remember the exact words, but there were a couple tense back and forths where she told me to fuck off while I told her that her that she has no class.
We were out on the sidewalk so I expected a white knight to “save” her and get in my face, but I forgot that Latino men are not as pussified as American betas. One came up to me and said, “Stop talking to that bitch.” He probably got cockblocked by her earlier.
It’s been too long that I’ve gotten into an argument with a cockblocker, so my attack was not as strong as I would’ve liked (she definitely wasn’t about to cry and seemed to get a kick out of our little street battle). And then it hit me—I actually had a scripted counterattack to this problem.
If you get cockblocked by a girl, you need to respond by shaking her core so hard that she hesitates doing it ever again, like a mouse who hits the wrong lever and gets the shit zapped out of him. No jokes and no wit—you gotta get dirty.
This is what you must say to the cockblocker. Say it with a stern tone, like a parent scolding a child.
“Did you really just do that? I’m being friendly and respectful to your friend and you rudely interrupt. Did your parents teach you to be anti-social like that?”
Then shake your head and turn your back on her. Don’t engage her in a conversation or even act like you hear her response. She no longer exists.
It had to have been bad if I started an anti-cockblocking movement, and while from a sociological perspective it’s interesting how cockblocking is a cultural phenomenon, I’m ready to destroy the next ugly bitch that interrupts me while I’m talking to a girl that is obviously considering having this hairiness on top of her in the throes of passion.