Hey, Ya'll, this is u/aging-chad. I'm new to posting but not at all new to this community. I spent my twenties and early thirties floating aimlessly through life without purpose, hoping some young lady would "love me for me." That all changed about five years ago when I found this subreddit, ignored the propaganda against it, and sifted painfully through the chaff to digest the wheat. I travel for work. I'm a travel nurse in America. I've been all over the country over the last several years from DC to LA and virtually everywhere in between. My quest for coin has most recently led me to a small city (about 30,000 people) in Central Wisconsin, the backdrop for my tale. That's probably enough introduction; no one gives a shit anyway.

Being my first weekend in a new place, I decided to hit up a local bar around 11pm. The place is fairly packed with people who seem to be in their late twenties, or early thirties while "Black" by Pearl Jam plays on the speaker system. It's my kind of vibe. I sit down at the bar, stay bundled up because its -4 degrees outside, and begin a friendly conversation with the young male bartender. I order a whiskey on ice, and he shows me my options--after a discussion about local distilleries (or the lack thereof) I settle on Jack Daniels because he said it "was the best." We all know it's not the best, but he's a young guy and the drink will do--a theme that will run through the evening.

"Holy Shit!" I hear next to my ear and turn to see a guy I met at work earlier in the week. A friendly guy, if a little goofy. He shouts to the bartender and tells him to put me on his tab. I try to decline, but he wasn't about to let me out of it, so I accept. He tells me a little bit about the area and explains that there's a second room to the place down some stairs where "the hoodlums" hang out. I've always been the type to like a little more trouble than your average groups of off-duty firefighters and their wives, so I ask more, and we head down. The vibe there was, not surprisingly, different. The patrons were younger, and the music was newer--the all-too-common garbage, auto-tune rap of today. He introduced me to a few of his "buddies" who seemed to be young twenties and spending the last of their stimmy money. And it's here that I begin to catch some IOI's. I'm dressed better, my muscular frame showing through my now unzipped coat, my new Ariat boots, and my genuine old-man-swagger sticks out among this crowd and the women immediately start to take notice.

Girl one was probably a HB4 (my rating system is likely relatively reserved compared to most around here) but she was short and that's my thing. We make eye contact, I hold until she looks away, and then I scan more of the room. There's a solid 8 in a tight black dress playing pool with a guy dressed in blue collar camo and jeans. She locks my gaze, but quickly turns back to her game--no real interest, keep scanning. There are several fat girls looking, but I don't pause for them, and then I see girl number two. She's sitting back away from the crowd wearing a similar style dress as the HB8 and a fur lined, open coat--locking eyes with her, I see she's a relative 7 but an easy 8 if it weren't for the girl playing pool. I hold contact for what seems to be fifteen seconds and then she looks to the 8 who smiles at her. She smiles back, glances at me, then looks to her phone. This will be my first approach.

My goofy work buddy then pops back in front of me and loudly declares "These guys are Ukrainian, bro!" And introduces me to the man playing pool with the HB8. Sweet, this dimwit from work just stumbled into an opener for me. Great job, buddy! I start talking to the man (we will call him Steve) and find out that he and the two girls just got here and are working at a local dairy. The 8 is his sister and the 7 is a friend who is "here to observe American life way"--all green lights. I shoot the shit with him for a bit, make introductions with the 8, and notice that the 7 is watching me almost the entire time--all clear IOIs that only the most beta would ignore. I make my approach. She's shy, and acting super cute, so I introduce myself. She doesn't speak any English, only Ukrainian. Most would stop here, but in my line of work I communicate across language barriers all the time--I try a few simple words and make no progress beyond her name, so I pull out my phone and head to google translate. We have a charming conversation. We talk about interests, hobbies, music, all the basic opener stuff for about 30 minutes--the entire time 8 and Steve are watching, conversing with one another (presumably about our interaction), nodding her along, and smiling.

My drink is empty, so I offer to buy her next, but she declines saying it's time for them all to leave. She takes my phone, puts her number in, and tells me she will practice her English for the next time we meet. That's a win, boys. They leave the building and I'm heading back up to the bar when I see more IOIs from the small HB4 but it's not time to approach a 4 just yet. I get to the bar, meet a 6 with a fake sounding name so I neg her about that, she produces a license to prove it--she's 22. We joke about how I card all the younger girls I meet. She asks me if I'm going to buy her a drink, but I tell her she has to buy the first round and promise to get her on the next. She laughs, comments about how I'm different than all the boys here and agrees that she will get my next when I finish the one the bartender hands me. I part ways with a smile and head back downstairs where I play some pool with my goofy buddy and some of his friends.

I'll skip the boring details of the next hour.

It's 1am now, I'm at the bar and I open my own tab to buy a round of shots for the guys I was playing pool with and the two bartenders. As they are delivering them, HB6 shouts "Hey cowboy, you gotta get me in on this!" I agree but remind her that she still owes me the first drink. She laughs it off and the bartender hands her a shot. I tell him "No, not her, she still owes me one." She's taken aback by the afront of an assertive man abiding by an agreement, scoffs at me and grabs the shot. I repeat "no" to the bartender and let him know, clearly, that if she drinks it, she pays for it. At this, her friend chimes in with the all too familiar attempt at emasculating me and claiming that a real man would buy a lady a drink. I laugh at them as the bartender takes her drink away. Not knowing what he should do with it now, I told him I would buy it and he can take it. He smiles, nods, shoots it, and the 6 and her friend are absolutely horrified that I stood on principal instead of backing down to their insults. Confident that their pussies are tingling and dripping by now, I smile at them, give them a wink, and turn back to my new group. Fuck them entitled bitches.

Last call. The HB4 approaches me. Her name is Lilly and she's a 26-year-old, recently divorced, single mother. She may as well have been one giant red flag with lipstick on. However, its last call, the firefighters and their wives are gone, the Ukrainian number is in my phone, the 22-year-olds are fuming in rejected desire over me, and I still gotta get my dick wet. I ask her what she's doing after the bar closes and she says she's probably just going to "go home and play Fortnite." Let me pause right here to explain that this is no fucking joke. The 26-year-old, single mother, divorcee is going home to play Fortnite. What. The. Fuck. I make fun of her hard, and comment about how she's going to go home just to get trash talked by a bunch of kids about how they fucked her mom.

"Hahaha, I'll just tell them I fucked their dad."

"Well, make sure you tell them that their dad said 'hi.'" I say with a smile.

"Damn, that was good. Give me your phone." She puts her number in my phone, calls it, and hands it back to me. "Text me when you leave."

Ding! That's a win.

I turn back to my group, have one last drink, and head out.

I get back to my apartment, brush my teeth, water my bonsai trees, hydrate myself, and shoot the HB4 a text.

"Who is this?" She replies quickly.

"u/aging-chad"

"Who? I'm soooo drunk."

I send her a link to a short-term memory test website.

She sends laughing emojis and "seriously, who is this? What do you look like?"

"I'm too old for this."

"Send me a picture so I know who you are."

"You can get back to your fortnite, sorry to bother you."

More laughing emojis, some bullshit about drinking while on her psych meds, and about how I should respect her enough to send pictures of myself to some HB4 red flag at 3am.

I ignore her and turn in for the night.

I wake up around 10am to dozens of messages about how I'm rude as fuck, she mentions the 22-year-olds at the bar and how I was disrespectful to them, it's no wonder I strike out all the time and never get laid, and even a mention of how I was probably just going to rape her if I did come over last night.

Ultimately, I'm glad this crazy bitch "forgot" who I was. I'm better off spending my day having a translated conversation with a quality Eastern European woman than fucking a psychotic American whore-child. And, in the end, a new language would be a welcome skill--always self-improve.

In conclusion and back to my main point: I feel genuinely bad for you younger gentlemen in America. You are sifting through a garbage heap littered with land mines. My advice to you: skip this generation of American women. If you can't move to a foreign country, seek out foreign born and raised women in your area. If that isn't an option for you, bite the bullet, commit TRP sacrilege, and approach older women. They may not be an 8 or 9, and they may not bear your children, but God Damn they probably won't make your life an absolute living hell.

If all else fails, you may even have to go complete monk-mode until the next generation ages and see what that brings. Until then, keep working on yourself and never stop improving.

Good luck.