randy. (brooklyn, circa 2002.)
When I lived in New York after college, I was the queen of internet dating. I used Nerve.com’s personals like there was no tomorrow. I wanted a boyfriend, damnit (though in a pinch, a one-night hookup would do). One night, on a whim, I replied to a guy whose photo was almost entirely blurred out. (Smart, I know.) He seemed cool; I was lonely (cough, desperate, cough).
We arranged to meet a couple nights later at my favorite Park Slope hipster dive. I walked in, scanned the room, and didn’t see anyone who even vaguely resembled the colorful blob in his blurry photo. I bought myself a nice stiff drink and plopped into a booth by the window. Where was he?
Suddenly a dude, who had been perched awkwardly near the jukebox, strode toward me. He looked nothing like the blob in the photo. “Hi, I’m Randy,” he said, and stuck out his hand.
Randy was wearing high-waisted light-blue jeans pulled up practically to his nipples. To complete the look, he sported one of those dumb black button-down rockabilly shirts with naked ladies etched on the sleeves. He had somehow managed to grow a crudely sparse goatee on his tiny chin.
My heart sank.
He sat down and looked me over, seeming thrilled by his fine fortune. We made small talk for 20 minutes while I eyed my watch, having resolved to stick it out for at least 45 (a girl’s gotta be polite). Growing tipsier with my second vodka tonic, I attempted to initiate a real conversation and remarked that I felt a lack of community in New York. He told me that he didn’t have that problem, since he was in a rock band that doubled as a gang. Called Satan’s Shepherds. Comprised of him and five of his bestest friends. I almost swallowed my straw in shocked amusement. “What? A gang? Like… A gang gang?” I spit out incredulously. Yes, he insisted. Though they weren’t capable of violence, they carried switchblades and pulled elaborate pranks on random bystanders. Sort-of like extremely clumsy white-boy performance art!
The date was officially over as soon as my watch struck 45 past. As he escorted me to a waiting cab, he attempted to tongue-kiss me and I threw up in his mouth a little. Just kidding.
