Yesterday, my brother and I went out to meet some friends at an Indian restaurant in Palermo SoHo. Much to my surprise, there was an elite member of the PUA community among them.
Before realizing this, I should have known. This guy was a character. He was 11 year old when the Falkland’s War occurred, therefore we peg him at about 39ish. This was the first red flag that flew. What would a 39 year old British PUA want hanging out with some mid-twenty-ish guys. Isn’t he suppose to be surrounded by chicks and the life of the party?
I continued to lose respect for him after he offered his methods for 4000 pesos. His course included 3 days of on-site(in-bar) training, guaranteeing me original pick-up lines and mind tricks. I denied the training solely because drinks were not included, or rather, because I have dignity.
Jason, as he was called, stood five feet, six inches tall with wavy long hair pulled back into a bun. He wore a neutral green shirt and stylish jeans accompanied by an improvised head band that appeared like a rag wrapped around the edge of his hairline. Although I had a quiet respect for his hair, he sat at our table interjecting with false confidence and a disapproving look. The old man’s aged face was a dead give-away. He looked like he was trying too hard and had the personality to match it.
Standoffish to guys yet confidently timid to girls, Jason, rather than befriending me, attempted to establish primitive dominance. After explaining why he was smarter and one-upping me on everything, it was pretty much established that we would be best friends. Upon leaving the second bar, we share a cab with Jason to the final bar of the night.
The climax of the night occurred upon exiting the cab. Jason’s unique swagger was among the funniest things I had ever seen. It was obviously suppose to be sign of confidence and power, but was more reminiscent of a 5′6” gorilla attempting to walk with perfect posture, methodically swinging his arms in unison to his steps.
At the final bar, he attacked the Chicas, systematically grading then degrading his targets. By time the bar was closing, he had an undetermined rapport with a woman who was equally trying to mask her unyouthful face with uneasy desperation.
My new friends British Andy, Married Dave and I eat breakfast at a restaurant at the Obelisk in the Argentinian equivalent of Times Square. 
These guys, having superior personality and a non-competitive nature, negating my disgust for Jason. It turns out Jason had met Andy via the internet. They had not met before that night.
The only way I can rationalize Jason’s presence is to assume we were suppose to be wing-men. He had no interest in us, he just didn’t want to be the creepy solo-wallflower. I never found out what happened to him that night, but I will certainly probe in the future. I’ll ask him on Monday when my 4000 peso PUA lessons begin…
Tags: Argentina, Buenos Aires, Capital Federal, Chicas, Falkland's War, Palermo SoHo, Pick-up Artist, PUA, Wing Man
