I hesitate for a moment as a seldom-used part of my brain warms up. I once worked at the Applied Research Facility at UNR, where I used such devices, but after changing career paths, I locked all of that knowledge in a room buried deep in my synapses, only to be opened when certain Jeopardy! categories pop up.
"Well," I explain in a rare professorial manner, "a centrifuge can be used for lots of things. It uses centripetal acceleration to separate substances into sedimentary layers. When I worked at the lab, we used it to separate the different layers of blood. This lounge works on the same principle, except on a social level."
"What?" she asks.
"It separates people based on their varying levels of coolness. See those people at the bar?" I say, pointing to the various loners nursing their beers over video poker. "Those are the less cool people. They couldn't find anyone to go out with on a Saturday night, so they're stuck alone at the bar in the middle of the centrifuge. They're pure plasma."
"Uh-huh."
"Then there're people like us. We're all coupled and chilling further out in the outer lounge area because we have friends we can talk to in a more comfortable atmosphere. So we're basically the thin secondary layer of leukocytes and platelets."
"Ew."
"But the Centrifuge is basically a hub for people on their way out to more exciting things. Those are the coolest people, who are either on their way to Studio 54 or, if they're particularly trendy, the poker area over there."
"Or the Rainforest Café over there," Lisa interjects, "which pretty much blows your coolness theory."
"Hey, don't knock the Rainforest Café," I say. "No matter how old you get, animatronic animals never stop being cool."
"So those people are what? Red blood cells?"
"Yup. Pure hemoglobin."
"That's disgusting."
"Yeah," I admit. "That's why I had to get out of the sciences. I could never talk shop without boring my dates."
Lisa laughs. "So you decided to work with video games instead because women find that so much more attractive?"
"It's not that bad," I insist, pulling out my PlayStation Portable. "This is an instant conversation starter because no one expects to see someone playing games in a place like this. Observe. The waitress will comment on it."
I begin playing Loco Roco, and Lisa quickly grows restless.
"I don't see the waitress coming," she says. "I think your experiment is a failure."
"Patience, darling. Did you hear the music get louder? That means they're gonna be busy dancing for a minute."
I glance over my shoulder to see the bartenders and waitresses scramble to equidistant points atop the bar, where they begin a choreographed dance.
"See?"
"You just did this so you'd have an excuse to play your game," Lisa says.
"Pretty clever, eh?" I reply, my eyes returning to the device.
The song soon ends, and the waitress approaches.
"Should I order Bloody Marys in honor of your latest metaphor?" Lisa whispers just as the young lady stops at our table. I tilt the PSP conspicuously toward the waitress as Lisa orders a vodka cranberry and a glass of chardonnay. The waitress then looks to me.
"Did you need an ashtray?" she asks.
"Uh, yes, please," I answer before she quickly turns and walks away.
I turn off the PSP and quietly return it to my pocket.
"Are you sure you should be sitting in the semi-cool-person section?" Lisa asks.
"Well ... it's not an exact science."