I took my friend C. to the opening party for Balena, that new restaurant in the old Landmark space, last week. There, we confirmed that men who go to restaurant opening parties are awkward.

Pick-up line A: “What did you just say about a Cameron passing out in your bed?”

We had said nothing about beds, or Camerons. (We had said something about passing out. To be fair, St. Patrick’s Day had occurred less than a week ago.) We told him we had said nothing about beds, or Camerons. He insisted we had. His followup was to introduce himself as Cameron.

Pick-up line B: “You look so familiar. Are you from Michigan? Or Wisconsin? Or Chicago? Or did you go to UChicago?”

Meanwhile, he did not specify which one of us looked familiar. I am from Wisconsin, but we both said no, and uncomfortably sipped our wine. Darts is a risky game: throw too many at once and they’ll all clatter to the ground.

Were I single, I would appreciate a: “Hi, I like your dress.” “Hi, what brings you here tonight?” Even: “Hi, I couldn’t help noticing you.” A little cheesy, but direct—with extra credit points for no implication that we drunkenly slept together. Cam, a little tip for next time: Say something nice about my hair instead.