[Disclaimer, not my cats, BUT THEY’RE SO GODDAMNED CUTE]
I’ve owned a smart for for just about three years now. I’ve enjoyed my time on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, SnapChat and have even found some use on USA Cycling’s half-assed attempt on a useful, user friendly smart phone application.
After a breakup with a women I believed I was going to spend the rest of my life with, my friend suggested an app I’d never heard of – Tinder.
It took some elements of “Hot or Not” and FB messenger, gave you a little BIO section to try and express how much of an individual you found yourself, or how interested in food and photography you were, or what sport teams you followed religiously; but were either largely non-religious or felt compelled to inform your future EX exactly how the wrath of God work.
Seriously, it appeared, on paper, to be a positive environment.
I downloaded the app to my smart phone and began to use it immediately.
I added some photos – mostly of me racing my bike, BECAUSE, LIKE THAT’S WHO I TOTALLY AM. I let them know the rules “PMA | No Jerks”.
If you’re unfamiliar with the system – swipe one direction, hope for a hook up – swipe another direction and hope you never see that photo again.
I swiped. And swiped. And swiped. There were some gorgeous women on there and fancying a night out with them made me very excited.
After a few hours, a few shots and a lot of beer, there was a match.
I immediately struck up a conversation and against my friend’s best suggestion I did not send a d*ck p*ck.
She was a young professional that worked for a popular, app based livery service. She traveled. Read. Enjoyed coffee and had a very nice since of fashion. SHE WAS MY DREAM GIRL.
Or so I thought.
Date #1 –
On a Wednesday afternoon -After a days of chatting – I finally mustered up the nerve to ask her for coffee We agreed to meet Thursday morning around 11am.
Later that evening, on my usual Wednesday night closing shift, the host informed me I had a table of five at table 51. I prepared the waters and headed out of the kitchen. As I rounded the corner in to the dining room and took my first glance at the table, I said to myself, “Oh she’s pretty.” As I got closer, my stomach began to turn.
I approached the table with the confidence of the Lion from Wizard of Oz and dropped the waters, of course to her first, and proudly said, “Good evening, how is everyone? I am Spencer and I’ll be taking care of you.”
She looked right at me and winked.
I went over the evening’s features and excused myself from the table. I went to the server side station and checked my phone – she had already messaged me, “#AWKWARD”
For the rest of the evening we made uneasy eye contact thought I remained collected.
A few moments later I returned to the table and the group fell silent. I presented the five separate checks [fucking amateurs] and walked away. I once again returned to my phone. I opened a message that said, “I told them group how I knew you. They all thought it was very adorable.”
JESUS CHRIST. My stomach dropped.
I returned to the table and collected their bills, swiped their cards and wished them a wonderful evening.
A few hours later, as I sat at the bar slamming a few heavy IPAs and a few shots of Bulliet, I got a message, “So I can’t lie that meeting was about relocating me to San Francisco to head the office there. I will be leaving Thursday afternoon, if you’d like to grab that cup of coffee before I fly out I’d enjoy that.”
I declined and wished her luck.
Shortly after that experience I deleted the app from my phone; only to redownload it a few nights later in a drunken rage. I began to swipe like a madman. I changed my profile pictures from biker guy, to punk rock bassist to handsome model guy with a decent sense of style.
I awoke in the AM with a match and a message.
“Hey, I think I know you,” the message read, “Did you go to ****** High School?”
Hardly able to open my eyes, I responded, “Yes. Quite some time ago.”
We chatted for a few hours and it turned out we had a few mutual acquaintances from the school. Over the next few days, I invited her out for coffee. The meet up kept getting pushed back until, finally, on a Sunday morning she agreed to meet for a cup around 3.
At roughly 2:45pm I received a message that she had to push back to 5pm, then to 6pm. I knew this was going no where but to hell quickly – straight for Hookupville a municipality I have no tolerance for. Around 3:30pm we agreed to get a drink at a high volume cantina on a popular block in Columbus. Against my best discretion.
I arrived five minutes early. She must have at least been six minutes early because she was already sipping a clear cocktail with an sour, acidic fruit on the rim.
I introduced myself and we began that slow and low small talk. I ordered myself a Bulliet, light ice.
It was cumbersome to say the least. The conversations were all dead ends. I mean, I’d ask a question and she’d answer with a single word. Then I’d rant about some bullshit for ten minutes and ask her thoughts. Our conversation style did not mesh well to say the least.
I ordered a second Bulliet, light ice. Then a third.
At some point, with enough bourbon I thought, the ice would eventually break. It didn’t.
I ordered another, a fourth, Bulliet, light ice. After about two hours of painful, headache inducing small talk, I finally had to use the restroom. I got up, slid my phone in my pocket – to text my buds the deets from the urinal, of course – and made my way to the bathroom. As I walked through a small doorway, I noticed the exit sign, out of sight from the bar.
In my slightly inebriated state, I made the most awful decision of my life – I made a b-line for the exit.
Within forty-five seconds, I was down the stairs, out the door, on my bike and around the block. I never looked back. I never even considered going back.
Out of sight but not out of mind. I made my way to my favorite bar and ordered a shot of Bulliet followed by a strong IPA.
The next morning I felt awful and it wasn’t the pounding headache of drinking a half bottle of Bulliet or deciding an IPA was a great chaser; it was the fact that I ditched a very nice person that I had absolutely nothing in common with. She was actually very nice, very pretty, had a very good job and worked very hard. As we sat there talking, neither of us could make a conversation work. Which is okay.
I never heard from her again, for good reason, but I always imagine that I’ll see her out and I’ll likely deserve the slap in the face I have coming my way. Or the beating I’ll get from her and her friends.
I deleted the app for good after that last incident and haven’t redownloaded or one like it since. I’ve been struggling with being single recently but decided that if I can’t meet someone face to face, I’m likely better off single than superficially perusing an app, judging beauty or attractiveness based on a few pictures and one hundred forty character bio.
Plus, if you can’t properly inform people of who you are in one hundred forty emojis, I’m not sure we’ll ever get along anyway.
[ZOMGZ not kitties but collies are so fucking adorable fuck me fuckkkkkkkk]