Pickup Lines by MJ Malleck
2025 Flash Fiction Winner
Honourable Mention
Yes, I’m in a bar. No, it’s not a joke. Thing is, Danny, where else am I going to meet someone?
I’ve parked myself here at the window of The Dog and Pony pub ‘cause it looks over the parking lot. Came early, to be sure. Ladies Night, no cover charge, so yes, a meat market. It works both ways, and I had the bangers and mash for supper. I’m not a herbivore yet.
Don’t be mad, it’s this or write up an advert of some sort. I can’t help but be wary, after all the job ads I wrote for the firm. Recruiters say, “You get what you pay for” and my budget’s tight since you died Danny. I’ll take my chances in person. Found you in a pub, right?
I learned plenty last week, Danny. The early guys, they’ll be respectful. They’ll think I’m the girl trying to appeal to their manly interests. When I ask, “What do you drive?” they’ll play along, give me the make and model, and the colour of the upholstery. Some of them will focus on the extras, the heated seats. A lot of them lie, even sober. Hence the window.
After a few drinks, they’ll get bolder. Fancy my question’s a pickup line. “A truck, doll, but don’t worry I keep my bed clean as a whistle” or “it’s a four door, honey, plenty of room in the back seat.” The lies are bolder, “My other car’s an Audi.”
If they ask me why I want to know, I tell them how I was married to a mechanic, had his own garage, loved cars. I don’t tell them the education you gave me. VW drivers with money and their heads up their ass. Honda Civic drivers waiting too long to bring it in, then saying fix just what you have to. Family men with SUVs full of hockey equipment gawking at the Playboys on the counter.
Here comes a guy, looks like his work shirt hasn’t seen a washing machine in ages. Single then. His white van out back has a ladder across the top.
Danny, I’m letting him buy me a drink. To replace the tonic water sitting in front of me. I like his red beard, I like his werewolf look. Remember when beards came back, and you tried growing one? Those damn wiry whiskers. My skin became red and irritated.
This guy’s wearing beard oil, sandalwood. Smells better than your monkey grease.
Yes, a white van. No logo on the truck. You’ll want me to ask if he’s self-employed, or if he’s a contractor. I want to know how he kisses, Danny, I want to know if my chin likes his beard.
No ring on his finger. Don’t tell me he’s masquerading as a self-made man. Don’t tell me he’s a lazy can’t-keep-a-job addict. It takes one to know one.
My keys are on the table. Tonight, Danny, he drives a Mini.