A woman sits alone at a table. The table is in the Starbucks section of her local Barnes & Noble store. The woman is a 37-year old mother of two. Or at least I think she looks like one from my vantage point halfway across the cafe. She has that slightly overripe look that women take on when they’ve seen too much of the world and they want to just get away. Except that she is also tentatively smiling as she sips her caramel mochacchino from the large mug.
A guy enters the Starbucks area looking furtively around as if looking for something he knows he won’t find there. Their eyes lock for a second and he keeps looking, but she is fixated. That’s when I know it’s a blind date. I thought we were past the age of blind dates, but that’s when I realize it’s one of those 21st century ones. You know the kind. Boy goes on internet, lies about everything, gets girl to meet him, then prays she stays once she realizes he’s lied. That would work, except this “boy” is closer to 50 and looks every bit his age. His hair is rapidly thinning and he has a massive beer paunch. This decaying specimen is cleverly disguised, though, through strategic use of a cowboy hat, a vertically striped shirt, and a nice smile.
Did he tell her he would be wearing a striped shirt? Did he explain to her that he’s a loser who expects her to pay for his cafe latte? All that will come later, but she must catch his eye first. She, of course, wasn’t exactly forthcoming with her information on her profile either. She said she was 28, and she could maybe pass for that age on a good day. This is not a good day. She also said she had no kids, which she knows he will eventually find out, but what’s the hurry? You gotta hook the fish first before you reel him in, right? Finally, she is tired of waiting for him to notice her, so she gets up from her seat and approaches him. This is another sign that she is a woman of the 21st century. When I was her age I would never have initiated contact with a man for any reason. Then she opens her mouth.
“Uh, Earl?” she asks once he realizes she’s there in front of him.
“Jenny?” he asks as he gives her the once over.
“I didn’t know if you’d recognize me,” she says as she nods her head.
“You don’t exactly look like your picture,” he replies, and she can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
“Neither do you,” she answers more softly now.
That’s when she realizes this is not going to go the way she hoped it would, and her bottom lip trembles almost imperceptibly. But I see it, and I know just like she does. This is not the man of her dreams. This is just another in a long line of letdowns. Of course by now he realizes she has lied about a few things, but she’s still female and he’s still horny, so why not? He starts to turn on the charm, smiling that hundred-watt smile, his only redeeming quality. He also tries not to think about the fact that his butt itches and he really wants to scratch it, but he knows that would kill any mood he has already set. Regardless of his self-control and lack of butt-scratching, he is oblivious to the fact that the first impression he’s made is a last impression to her. She is ready to leave right now but her mother taught her better manners, so she leads him to her table and they begin the only face-to-face conversation they will ever have. She is already figuring out how she will avoid him on the match website the next time she’s on, and how she can delete him from her matches as soon as possible. He still thinks he’s going to have sex. I know because he’s still smiling.
I am distracted from this charming couple by the raised voices to my back. I shift in my chair to see two high-school aged girls arguing. It must be about boys, I think, as I transfer all my focus to them now. This should be interesting. As I settle in for the long haul, I wonder how many more of these exchanges will take place here today. And I smile.
Sam
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