Here's the Situation (9 page)

There are times when even the best wingman fails to come through. On a recent trip to Houston, I had convinced a couple girls to accompany me and my wingman back to the hotel. These girls were down from the jump. My wingman told me to go ahead to my room, settle in, and he'd send the girl I was hanging with straight up. This struck me as a sound plan until I found myself lying on my bed, watching cartoons, and waiting far too long for the girl to arrive. I texted my wingman, “Hey bro . . . Where's the girl?”

No response.

This was highly unorthodox. I began to suspect that something odd was afoot. I texted again: “Yo? Wingman? What happened? Where's the girl that was headed to my room?!”

About fifteen minutes later, I got a text back: “She's on her way.”

When she arrived she said that, after her friend had bailed on her, she went ahead to my room—but accidentally arrived at my wingman's door first. She decided that he was pretty cute, too, so she made a pit stop before continuing on to the main event. This may have worked out splendidly for my wingman, but I view this as a complete breakdown in protocol and The Wingman Code. His mission was to send her on to my room, not invite her into his own. He broke the cardinal rule by steering his gear into the path of my chick. But I forgave him. In that instance it was really more a case of where, when you're rolling with a confident, good-looking crew, some chicks are just down for the whole team. And besides, a great wingman is hard to replace.

Q:
WHAT'S THE SITUATION'S TAKE ON SLOPPY SECONDS?

A:
That depends on many factors. For instance: How late at night is it? Is there an opportunity to establish untainted relations with a different female (always preferred)? This is an instance where a guy must do the math and rationalize the best approach to a girl who may have just had sex with your friend ten minutes prior. If you decide to pursue, be sure to avoid all bodily crevices where your friend's fluids may have accumulated.

Troopers know how to play the wingman, even when they find themselves in an unfamiliar platoon. Not too long ago I found myself leaving a club in Vegas with fifteen girls in tow. Just me and fifteen girls! I don't know what the fuck I was thinking. A hotel security guard escorted me up to my room and the dude was looking at me like I was the grand marshal of the Thanksgiving Day Parade. More accurately described, it was like The Situation's Drill Team, with me being the drill.

But I realized I had a problem. There's a lot of Situation to go around, but fifteen chicks!? Even The Situation's bed has a maximum occupancy. We were all in the same elevator together and traveled up a few floors before the elevator stopped and opened for some guy who was waiting. The guy looked at me, the security dude, and the fifteen girls and said, “Situation, I love you, man.”

Thinking on my feet, I said, “Bro, what's up? Get in here. There's plenty of room.”

I played like I knew the guy, like he was a friend of mine, and he, a natural wingman, went right along with it. When we got up to my suite, he took one of the chicks with him into a spare bedroom, thereby reducing an unmanageable fifteen girls to fourteen, which I was able to handle on my own. That's a clutch wingman, and probably the luckiest dude to ever wait for an elevator in a Vegas hotel. (Read more about my tricks for handling multiple partners on page 83.)

When presenting this coupon, the bearer promises, at a future date, to dive upon his wingman's grenade, no questions asked, no matter how heinous-looking or annoying that bitch is. No matter how much she talks about her cat(s) or who will, or will not, friend her on Facebook. This is the Wingman's Code.

 

Clip and store in your wallet, or between your fat roll of cash, wrapped twice with a rubber band.

SITUATION-ISSUE

 

Or, you can avoid the club altogether. At a spring break event in Panama City, Florida, I arrived at the hotel straight from the airport at about midnight. The streets were mobbed with college kids. I got settled in my room, then decided to take the elevator downstairs with a buddy so we could stand out front for a smoke. I was outside the front entrance for literally two minutes of quiet relaxation and warm ocean breezes when a large group of college students spotted me from a distance and ran toward me in a full sprint, screaming my name. I visited with them for a bit, then my buddy and I went back into the hotel. In the elevator, as the doors were closing, two chicks from the group jumped inside at the last possible moment. Long story short, I stepped outside for a smoke and the next thing I know I'm back in my room for the night with two hot college chicks. And they say tobacco is bad for you.