Black hole of fun
Ordinarily my dates result in dramatic and comical stories with characters who have significant physical deformities, show up drunk and disorderly, or need to blow into a breathalyzer to get their car to start. But tonight's was simple; there was no drama, no excessive drinking and no cracked out homeboys with mommy issues.
I'd assumed tonight's date was.... me.
He had lived in Somerville for three years yet never been to the Fluff festival. (me)
He was an Aquarius. (me)
He had a border-collie mix named Misty. (me)
I couldn't have planned it better. We had so much in common that even if we didn't hit if off romantically, we were bound to have a good time based on chatting about our shared experiences. He was.... me!
No.
Not me.
I showed up at the pub early and spent time fluffing my shirt and smoothing my hair to make sure I was the picture of a Fun-but-alluring date. He rolled in on his bicycle exactly at 8:00 on the dot. He was normal looking (which is the equivalent of a Disney-prince-stud in the world of 30-something blind internet dating).
After a few moments of banter, we moved into the pub and towards a back "lounge" area. While cool outside it was warm in the lounge. While waiting for the bartender I took up a stool under a bright light and started fulfilling my end of the first-date-banter questions.
Where are you from?
Vermont.
What do you do?
Research.
How long have you been in this area?
Three years.
Much like an awful interview, he was bombing the questions. I opted for the more open ended route:
"Tell me about your dog", I said.
Three sentences later I had zoned out while he described the mind numbing story of how he acquired his pet. (Excerpt for those who don't believe just how dull it was: "I didn't know a lot of great dogs come from the south. She was from the south. Arkansas. A lot of dogs breed in the south. They don't spay and neuter their dogs as much. Up here in the north people want dogs. So they sent the dog up. I adopted her. She's three. I got her in April. She's part collie.")
It was getting hotter in there.
As a lover of the puppies, I asked more questions. The answers were painfully boring so I switched subjects. (Poor choice. At least I liked the sound of the dog.)
Despite my summer blouse, I had started to really feel hot; I felt a trickle of sweat drip down my temple.
Painstakingly, he described his job. He lived in Africa for two years. "Ooh!" I thought. "Something to talk about!"
Nope.
According to the 20 minute story, he had lived in Malawi for two years, followed by a stint in Cameroon and Ghana. He spent his time there studying (as I recall) 'the relationships of farming and the social constructs that allowed for agricultural development of the native people as pertaining to development of crop rotation and the relationships within'.
"So..... farming and neighbors?" I asked. The light over my head flashed in my eyes and made me blink excessively.
No no. Apparently he supervised people - who studied people - who had at one time - had relationships with farmers.
I felt the sweat form along my upper lip while more sweat dropped from my hairline. The light above me shone down like a personal hellish sun. There were no cocktail napkins available to wipe my face and I was desperate. I was so hot. I was starting to feel dizzy. Had he drugged my drink? Had the bartender?
"Would you excuse me for a moment?" I asked, gathering my purse and stumbling down the hall and to the left -- off to the bathroom while "STRANGER! DANGER!" played on repeat in my mind.
I collected myself in the restroom while checking the mirror to make sure my mascara hadn't adhered itself to my under-eye area. With the amount of sweat I was wiping off my face nothing would surprise me.
I whipped out my phone and rapid-fire texted my A-list of emergency date contacts.
Me: he's the most boring man alive. I'm dying. I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Help. He's the black hole of fun. He's where fun goes to die.
Katie: is he cute at least?
Me: no no no no.
Katie: excuse yourself for life.
Me: he's the most boring man alive. I'm dying. I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Help. He's the black hole of fun. He's where fun goes to die.
Christa: Go back out, order a bottle of wine with dinner, get drunk on his dime.
Me: We're not having dinner! It's just drinks!
Christa: Get a bottle of vodka then. On him.
Last resort: my male bestie:
Me: He's the most boring man alive. I'm dying. I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Help. He's the black hole of fun. He's where fun goes to die.
Jay: Hahahahaha!
Me: no seriously, what do I do?
Jay: Hahahahaha!
Shit.
After a moment of splashing my face with the coldest water I could crank out of the faucet, I took a deep breath. While I realized it was probably the hot light I was sitting under, I rationalized with myself. "This isn't the light that's making me sweat", I said to the empty bathroom. "It's the FUN leaving my body while I listen to this guy."
I headed back out the door.
Then I saw it.
To the right was the lounge. But to the left was a low, giant, gaping, wide open, wonderful, window. With no screen (health code alert!), it looked out onto the patio, then the street. There was easily a 3' opening. I walked towards it and measured myself up against the window. At 5'3", it would barely take a hop and a duck to scoot through. Cool air breezed through and I realized (dramatically) that my salvation was on the other side.
Freedom! Cool air! Respite from the most boring man alive! I wanted it. I wanted it like a winning lotto ticket. But amongst other reasons, it was just too cliche. Leaving out a bar window?! I had survived dates with drinks, cheapskates and assholes.... I wasn't going to let the dullest man alive take me down.
I proceeded back to the bar, politely suggested we move to an area less lit like an interrogation room and proceeded with the mind numbing conversation.
Family? One sister.
Parents? I see them at Thanksgiving.
Fun? I like watching marching bands.
Favorite instrument? Trombone.
At some point the bartender (who at some point I realized I recognized, but could not figure out from where), noticed our table and wandered by.
"Anything else for you two?" he asked.
Nothing. Nothing! No! Check please! I shot the bartender daggers with my eyes in the hopes he would take pity on me and force the check upon us.
"Hmm, what do you think?" I asked my date, gritting my teeth and begging for the torture to be over.
"Do you want to have one more?" He asked me sweetly, the unsaid invitation for the date to continue.
"Ohhhh I think I should probably....."
..... get home, I have an early day tomorrow. (Lie. I'm going in late tomorrow.)
..... go take care of my cat, she gets lonely. (Lie. Hate cats.)
...... take care of my daughter. Did I not mention I have kids? (Lie. Childless.)
I didn't bother to finish the sentence with an excuse. I grimaced.
It was awkward.
When the check came I fumbled for my purse. "We'll split it?" I offered, looking for my misplaced credit card. He waited while I searched. After putting down my card, he offered "well I guess if you didn't find it, I could have covered you this time."
Classy.
After a (brief, obligatory) hug, he wandered off to his bicycle. I fanatically called an uber, wondering if I had tkme to grab a slice of pizza before it came.
Uber won.
