Friday night in Sarajevo

Friday night we were in a bar called Baghdad Cafe. It’s a small bar about 5 metres by 5 metres. At the back wall is the bar. In the centre is a round table that will house about ten people comfortably. On the left is a comfy bench – importantly raised so that the seated sets are almost at head height to the standing sets. Just a happy accident. There is only one part of the bar that is inaccessible to opens – the top left hand corner. It’s a bit tricky because it’s wedged between the wall, the raised platform and the bar.

We walked in and there were about 10 people – Not many targets yet but it’s didn’t matter – This is Sarajevo, not London. You are guaranteed targets if you wait ten minutes. The music was lounge style house and played at a volume that made me actually like it. The volume you’d play in on a Sunday morning in your living room. Loud enough to have an impact, but not to a volume where you have to raise your voice at all.

And this is how we worked it:

Hold a fun and energetic conversation with embedded value spikes in which much of the energy is directed away from the target set.

One   

We went in, ordered a drink and stood at the central table. We locked eyes, faced each other and for the next ten minutes we just talked and laughed. We were actually plotting an overly cruel, overly elaborate and totally impractical practical joke on our good buddy Burto which would have involved setting up numerous fake blogs, renting a shop and hours and hours of our time, but it was a great idea so we were genuinely into it and genuinely laughing. We were also giving the bar this message:

‘We’re having fun. We’re not after anything or anyone. We’re fine as we are Jack. We’re having a right old laugh. You wish you were with us’.

All the while we’re subtly value scanning the bar over each others shoulders. People have entered. There is now a super hot 4 set who have come in, ignored everyone and headed to the top left corner. They’re all 9s. They’re not talking to each other; they’re bored, at best texting on their phones, at worst, believe it or not, staring into space. If we talk loudly enough, they can hear every word we say.

On my right, just over my shoulder – a two set. Two high 7s, maybe one is a low 8, in enthusiastic conversation with each other. Most likely friends come out to catch up.

At our table is a friendly looking fat guy and a good looking tall guy. They are talking, occasionally. Sometimes they are just silent. They’re waiting for the party to start. They are waiting for value to come to them.

Finally, behind me, in the rear right corner are three guys. They are value scanning the bar. They are dressed like football hooligans. One is wearing an England tracksuit. They don’t look particularly hard but they look willing to fight if they fancied it that way.

That’s the bar. That’s what we have to work with. It was perfect.

Two

5 minutes in. It’s time to take our party, which is the best party, and prove it by adding followers. At this point I am thinking – target set is the super hot 9s, the pawn female set is the 7s over my shoulder. The pawn to get into that set is the guys.

Now that’s a long plan. It takes 30 minutes to pull off and anyone can leave at any time. However, this is Sarajevo. If the super hot 9s leave – it doesn’t matter – there’ll be four more any minute.

Bosnians, particularly the men, are fucking friendly. They are my favourite people. No matter how mean they look, how many Serbian necks they have snapped in the war, you speak to one and he’s friendly. Not overly friendly, just friendly like a normal well adjusted man. If you’re friendly back, then you’ll be laughing with them for 10 minutes.  American guys, to be fair, can often be like that too. Friendly people American lads, but Yanks don’t look like killers so you don’t get that weird mind blowing effect.

Ironic that I find America mostly boring and average, it’s like everything is made to appeal to the most people, so it’s all average. Nothing is great. It’s just beige. Everything in Europe, while more expensive, is a lot better. But American lads are proper decent lads. And even more ironic that Yanks don’t get the irony of it, because ironically, they don’t get irony.

Anyway, back to the story.

I turn to the little fat guy:

‘Excuse me buddy, sorry for interrupting’, he wasn’t talking to his mate at this point, just standing there ‘but, I have to ask, are you from Manchester?’

‘No, hahaha, I am 100% Bosnian’

‘Hahaha. No way. Honestly, and this is no criticism, but you have the typical Manchester look, it’s quite friendly actually, but I had to ask because I am from quite near there and I bet my buddy. Hey, meet him – his name is Nick’

Bang. We owned that two set of guys all night after that. They loved us. They were now our followers and everyone saw us do it. We weren’t just the party – we were the party which was growing in number.

Three

15 minutes in. Time to open the 7s. I could just open them and they’d go for it but I step out of the pawn set and leave Krauser working it with energy and I wait until there is a lull in their conversation:

‘Excuse me ladies, I do apologise, but do you speak English at all because, I speak very little Bosnian I am afraid’.

‘Oh, that’s OK, we speak English’.

‘Thank you. My friend and I have been in Bosnia for two days now and we’ve noticed, Bosnian ladies… they dress really well’.

‘Ohhhh thank you. Where are you from!?!’

‘London. Let me introduce you to my colleagues’…..

The Jambone/Krauser army just added two high 7s maybe 8s.

Four

25 minutes in. Two things happened now. Both good. One: The two guys had two friends turn up. Little French girls. Both high 6s but not appalling, just a bit lower than average really. Two: A new set in the bar. Three high 8s. Solid, hot high 8s with a energetic vibe. Guys with them too.

Now I am thinking – The super hot but bored 9s in the corner who have been watching us for the last half an hour – they’re the target set – the 7s and 6s are pawn sets and these 8s – Well, they’re very hot and fun so if I can get those kids on the way to the 9s, then that’s what I am going to do.

So my next step is clear. Get into the 8s.

I let the 8s see us being the party for a while. They clock us and look a couple of times. They see us with the guys and the 7s having fun. Good. Remember the football hooligans from earlier? The guy in the England tracksuit – time to own them too.

‘Excuse me buddy, very sorry, do you speak English at all’

‘Yes of course’. Note, this guy is chavvy looking but super friendly and chilled.

‘We’re from London. We’re going to come and live in Sarajevo later this year. What’s the local football team like’?

Football hooligan set – owned. The next ten minutes we’re playfully arguing about football. And the 8s and the 9s look on.

Five 

35 minutes in. I’d be trying to open the 9s now but first I am going to go and open the 8s that turned up. However, I want to really make sure it’s a really easy open. So I grab one of the 6s with the guys, and standing very close to the 8s and I talk to her for 5 minutes. I pepper the conversation with DHVs right next to the 8s. They hear every single fucking thing I say. Things like:

‘Yes I like to travel to a different country every month’.

‘Next year I am going to buy a convertible and drive round every country in Europe, I’ll spend the whole year doing it’.

‘My best friend is my dad. We’ve always been best friends. Hahaha, I remember when I was younger, the first time I had a threesome was with two catwalk models.  I was at my holiday home in Spain and my dad walked in while I was fucking one of them. He just smiled and said ‘I’ll come back later then shall I’. He gave me the thumbs up as he left the room. I think that was the moment he knew his son was man. (This is a lie, I very rarely lie in set, this was one. But it’s only a half lie. I did have a threesome with a catwalk model (twice actually) and my dad did catch me with a girl once – I just blended the stories together because I had the chance to).

When I started talking to the 6 the 8s had their backs to me. 5 minutes later the 8s were all leaning against the bar watching me talk to the 6 like they were watching television. I open the 8s. I look one of them in the eye, smile and say my favourite line firmly and slowly:

‘You’re sexy as hell’

‘Thank you. What’s your name’

‘Jimmy’

8s. Owned

Six

45 minutes in. We own the bar. At this point one of the super hot 9s walks past me. She is 6 foot, slim, brunette and looked not too dissimilar to, but much better than, the girl at 1:55 in this rock video:

She walked past me and locked eyes, turning her head to keep eye contact as she walked past me. She didn’t smile, she just stared. She could have been interested or just fucking with me. It doesn’t matter, it was an invite to at least have a shot and that is sometimes all you need. Get ten invites like that… you only need one to pay off and you’re fucking a 9. You just need to meet ten 9s. In Sarajevo, that’s easily done.

Seven

Should have just been time to open the 9s. But we made an odd decision. This might all sound awesome, once in a lifetime, but in reality, it was just a quiet bar early on a Friday night in Sarajevo. That’s it. We owned the bar in 45 minutes. I don’t know why, I don’t know what possessed us, but we decided to leave the bar!?!?

I think we were just full of our own hubris. We were full of abundance mentality. I personally felt we’d see most of these girls again the other bars, since there are only about 8 on the small street and we’d be wise to go and warm some other locations up. In my head I saw us doing exactly the same to another bar and some of the sets from this one walking in. Basically – I was a kid in a toy shop – not buying anything, just running around picking things up and putting things back down.

You ever heard the story about the dog with a bone in his mouth, he sees his reflection in the river and gets greedy for the other dog’s bone, so he opens his mouth to snatch it so he has two bones, but merely succeeds in dropping his bone into the river?

Made sense at the time to leave. It still sort of does now.

I went to Facebook the 8. I said I was leaving the bar and I was in town for a few days, so she grabbed her phone. She went to add me to Facebook but couldn’t find me, so we fumbled around for 5 minutes and couldn’t work it out. That’s just bad luck. I just played it cool and rolled off. ‘Ah, no worries kid, I’m sure I’ll see you around’. The 8s should have been a close. The 9s were probably primed but sat down and locked away in the only inaccessible corner. The 6s I’d been given their business card, woopie doo, and the 7s… I just forgot about them. As I left one of the 7s ran over to me wide eyed

‘Jaaaaamesssss. Where are you going’.

‘Another bar, see you in there’

‘Which one’

‘Ah…’ Waves hand vaguely in the direction of some other bars.

Eight

It gets better. We didn’t go in any other bars. It was about 11pm and actually a bit quiet. We decided to go home for a nap!?!?! Imagine that!

We came out at about half past midnight and headed back to the Baghdad Cafe. By this time it had turned into Movida. Small, jam packed so that you couldn’t move and very loud. So we knocked Friday night on the head.