Tom, San Francisco. circa june ‘07
As i approached the cafe, I spotted the man who might or might not be my internet date, tom. he was sitting at an outdoor cafe table listening to music on his computer, and he was DANCING. you know — dancing in his seat. Throwing his arms up in the air and bobbing the shit out of his head. It looked like he was having a seizure. also, as an aside, I don’t go for men like that. I prefer men who are more contained, a bit more quiet in their self-possession. silliness and goofiness are awesome; I’m proponents of both, but I prefer it to happen later, once I’ve actually gotten to know the person. As if that weren’t awful enough, he was also wearing black-rimmed buddy holly glasses with bright yellow lenses — you remember the kind, they were fashionable someplace in the young-to-mid 1990s.
Shit. Should i pretend i didn’t see him? Just get up and leave?
Ah, the answer looks so clear to me now. But of course I stuck it out and sat there waiting until the guy spotted me and came inside and the first thing he exclaimed, upon seeing me, was “YOU’RE A DOLL! AN ABSOLUTE DOLL!!!!” I had no idea what that meant, really — a “doll?” Um, is that a good thing?
We ordered cappuccinos and chocolate-covered graham crackers. I silently prayed, while stirring the foam, that this guy wasn’t going to end my life today. It seemed possible. His vibe was just off. He had called me a “doll,” for chrissakes.
We sat and he asked me the required set of questions about where I lived, what I did for work where i grew up, what I liked to do for fun. I told him about my neighborhood, that i worked as an editor for a website, that i grew up in DC, and that I was pretty boring when it came to fun: tons of movies, bad TV, good restaurants, mediocre frozen yogurt, window shopping, people watching…
“Huh,” he said, upon hearing of my interests. “You’re way different from how you came off in your emails. For a writer person with a fancy job, you don’t seem as smart as i thought you would.”
Ummmm, what? “Um, what?” I said. “You’re saying I don’t seem smart?”
“No, no… I’m just saying you don’t seem as smart as I was expecting you to be. I expected you to be all scary-smart and pretentious or whatever, but you’re not! You’re just average!” he explained with a crooked grin.
“Uh, for future reference, the way to a girl’s heart generally isn’t by telling her she’s stupid,” I muttered, incredulous.
“Oh, come on, sweetheart! I can tell you’re smart enough. And really, who needs smarts when you’re so frickin’ adorable? You literally look like a doll. A DOLL! You’re an absolute doll — has anyone ever told you that before?” The sociopath seemed to be inching closer and closer to the edge, as i began inching closer and closer to the door.
But good old Tom had a few more zingers up his sleeve. “Do you work out?” he asked awkwardly. “Um, not really. I go to the gym here and there, but I’m not consistent about it. I should probably be better,” I responded.
“Aw, sweetie, I doubt you even need to worry about it. It looks like you’ve got a hot little body under that green dress of yours.”
I froze. Oh no he didn’t! He did not just make a pervy comment about my body (which he could barely see in my demure dress, BTW).
It was now officially time to split. I stood up and headed for the door. as i said my goodbye, he leaned in for a kiss, which I deflected. “No kiss?” he asked. “Uh, I don’t really feel the spark,” I replied.
“Alright, that’s cool. You’re still a total doll. Have I mentioned that your shoes would look really good on my bedroom floor? Come to think of it, YOU would look really good in the backseat of my car.”
Yes, he actually said those things. And he said those things casually, as if they weren’t creepy as all get-out, like he was just BAT-SHIT CRAZY and unaware of the way his words could be perceived. It was really, really time to leave!
“Well, I should run,” Tom said, beating me to the punch. “I have a long drive to Berkeley from here — I gotta be there at 7.” He looked at me with an expectant look, clearly waiting for me to ask him where he was going. So I did.
“Oh, I’m just meeting some girl. It’s my last date of the day! You were cool, but she seems really cool. So who knows — you two could be, like, the Final Two.”
WTF? Had this guy watched too many reality shows?
I never talked to Tom again after that awful horrible terrible no-good date, but he did email me this gem a couple days after our date:
“Laura
I had a good time on our graham cracker tryst. I think
you are a real sweetheart…give me some mail or a
call if you want to hang out again.
If not, behave out there, princess.
Tom”
I didn’t reply.
