After last night I cannot help but wonder if I haven't been working the online dating scene too long.
I've done my best not to become jaded. Indeed, somehow I manage to talk myself into approaching each date with enthusiastic optimism. Of course I do believe unreservedly that I am a great "catch", but my assumption is that there are a lot of great male catches out there too. For that reason I am willing to meet with potential suitors who do not necessarily present themselves well in their online profiles. I mean, heck, I'm a writer so of course my profile is fabulous! But I can understand that not everyone possesses the communication skills that I take for granted.
This is not to say I don't have some minimum criteria that must be met prior to scheduling a first meeting. They need to indicate financial stability. They need to not look like a serial killer in their photos. They need to at least pretend that they are not angry and embittered over the life and relationships they've had so far. (You'd be surprised at how many guys that eliminates from the starting gate.) If they do that then, yes, I'll come out for coffee or wine.
I prefer not to come out for a meal. Most women on these dating sites seem to think that a free meal is the goal. I don't want or need a free restaurant meal. I'm happier to stay home to eat my own healthier food. My goal in meeting these guys is to see if there is any potential. I've learned that it only takes about fifteen minutes of chitty-chat over a beverage for me to know if I want to spend more time in this person's company. My time is valuable and I've no interest in taking advantage of any man's wallet.
That said, last night after painting my nails and applying mascara I went out to meet a guy who appeared to have potential. I asked to meet for a drink but he took one look at my gorgeosity and immediately asked the hostess to seat us at a table. He was mildly charming so I didn't resist. I set the menu aside and ordered a glass of Pinot Noir. He got a Miller Light (clearly not what he normally orders or he wouldn't be those 45 pounds overweight that made him struggle to slip into the cozy booth we were given. The waitress returned three times before we finally ordered two appetizers.
"Fine," I am thinking to myself, "he hasn't said anything too bizarre and he's come straight from work and he's gotta be hungry and we seem to be getting along... so sure, why not?"
It wasn't until about an hour into the conversation that things got really weird.
I don't know this guy. Absolutely nothing about him seemed even vaguely familiar. Nothing. I swear. Like too many first dates, he was consumed with talking about himself. He'd told me about his job, his commute, his education, his ex-wife, his son, his son's girlfriend, the reason he didn't like his son's girlfriend, the crazy things his son's girlfriend has done... He was going on and on about himself and his son with very little room for me to insert anything about me, but I've seen this plenty of times before and I am a patient soul. After all, a lot of that can come from sheer terror on the part of the guy. They are so afraid of lulls in the conversation that they fill up the space with blather that borders on embarrassingly inappropriate self-disclosures. I've heard a lot of that. Really, so far this guy last night wasn't any worse than the norm. I even managed to politely ignore the food that missed his mouth and came to rest where his belly bulged at the buttons of his crisp blue oxford shirt.
And then it happened. He began to tell me a story that I had heard before.
It wasn't just similar to a story I'd heard before, it actually was a story I'd heard before. He was telling me this story - about why he'd broken up with his last serious girlfriend - and he was telling it in words that I had, verbatim, heard before.
My stomach tightened up so much that I put down the bite I was about to take and pushed my plate away. I had just slipped into the Twilight Zone.
He didn't notice my reaction at first and continued to recount his tale. I listened, knowing precisely what he was going to say next, but hoping somehow I didn't. My mind bounced back and forth trying to explain what was happening. Had I met this man before? Was this a prolonged flash of déjà vu? Is there a book all the men read on "Stories to Entertain Your First Dates"? How could I possibly know this story?
Earlier in the conversation he'd mentioned how his marriage had failed after the death of their youngest son. I hadn't picked up on it then, but now, hearing this story about his ex-girlfriend, I could remember exactly how his son had died. Good golly, I've heard all of this guy's stories before. I know this guy. Why don't I recognize him? My mind was in an absolutely dizzying whirl. My upset had become obvious by now, even to this self-obsessed talkaholic. But aside from his noting that I'd stopped eating, he continued to tell me more things I already knew as I struggled to neutralize the expression on my face.
I let the conversation run its course, doing less to encourage him than I'd been doing before my revelation. In time his food and banter ran out, the bill came, and we made our way to the door. He was none the wiser, though I myself was grateful for the cold night air as we stepped outdoors and parted company. I watched his brake lights as he backed up and exited his parking spot. I sat still in my car, completely unsure of what I'd actually just experienced. Is it possible that I had dated this man and have zero recollection of his face? Is that really possible? It would have had to have been within the last three years, since that's when he told me he moved back to NJ. Could I really have met someone within the last three years and have no memory of it whatsoever, save the stories that he'd told, then and now?
I have no explanation. If it had been déjà vu, wouldn't I have recalled his face? Every other déjà vu I've ever had possessed precisely identical scenarios. Those few déjà vu’s were incredibly clear: the faces and conversations were exact replicas. This hadn't been like that. I'd heard the story, but had not been in that same restaurant booth when I'd heard it. And it cannot have been a story that guys want to use for first-date conversations since it wasn't a "good" story; it was unhappy, and strange. So all that's left to conclude is that I had, in fact, met this guy at some time during the last three years and I have absolutely no recollection of it. I’d be concerned that I was having early onset of Alzheimer’s, but he clearly doesn't recall meeting me either. How can two people both not know that they have met each other within the last three years? Or is it possible that this guy was "gaslighting" me?
Twilight Zone indeed.
I had a hard time falling to sleep last night. With all of this still churning in my head this morning, I went to my email inbox and saw that after nearly three years of silence I'd received correspondence from Carmine. My heart fluttered. Oh Carmine, is your swim in the dating pool exhausting you too? I opened the email with a grateful resurgence of sunny optimism, only to find Carmine's email account had been hacked and some schlock web sales pitch had been sent to me, along with everyone else in Carmine's contact list.
Sigh... Is the universe sending me a warning that it may be time to take a break from dating?
On the upside, apparently I am still in Carmine's contact list...
My oh my, how can I continue to be such a cockeyed optimist in the wake of such a bizarre episode? What will it take to crack my rose colored glasses?
