SEPIA

by Anna Elisabeth, Matrix Correspondent

















It was almost 7:30pm as I walked down the street, umbrella in hand and heart in my throat. I was headed to meet an online prospect for the first time; a self-proclaimed straight guy who sings and dances, picks up random pennies, and recently ended an online connection with someone who masqueraded as a 38 year old woman with no children but eventually confessed to being 10 years older and having four children. My odds of impressing were high.

The name of the bar held true as everyone was cast in a brownish-red glow much like the sepia toned photos adorning the exposed brick walls. I immediately recognized him when I walked in; a little eager, nervously shaking his foot, and wearing a buttoned-down shirt with the sleeves extended to his wrists despite the humid weather. I ordered what he had – a blue moon with an orange slice – and we made our way to the patio. I hated to admit it, because my expectations were high, but I wasn’t attracted to him. To be honest, I haven’t been attracted to any of the men I’ve met online. They’ve, for the most part, been shorter than what they advertised and have had very narrow shoulders; which, for a corn-fed girl from the Midwest who is seeking the comfort of laying her head on a man’s chest, is not appealing.

One of the things about online dating is that the usual chit-chat has already been written about in the numerous contacts that have been made before the initial meet and greet so the pressure was on to engage in instant, intriguing conversation. Not to mention the pressure I felt when I looked down to notice that his zipper was fully undone! What was I to do? I just met the guy – did I tell him or leave him hanging and hope that he would soon notice himself?

I had actually been in a somewhat similar predicament before while riding the Q train from Manhattan to Brooklyn. A man in his forties was leaning against the train door. I was across from him and to my left, there was another women, only further down. As I read I occasionally glanced up to see if he had yet noticed that his pants were unzipped. He was reading the newspaper, oblivious. During one of my glances, I noticed something moving around that area and much to my utter surprise, and deep disgust, I realized his penis beginning to burst, and then bursting, out of his pants!

Anyway, back to the date. So, I decided that to tell this guy that his pants were unzipped was way too awkward and things were already awkward enough after the fumbled greeting of a sideways hug and near miss lip/cheek kiss as we introduced ourselves. So, I focused entirely on his eyes all the while risking his perception of this. After 15 minutes of hearing his family history and his adventures of applying to boarding school on his own at the age of 12 in order to escape his family the conversation turned to me. I sat there a bit stunned but managed to begin to share some of my family details. The therapist in me wanted to dive right in to his psyche and his reasons for wanting to escape but I’ve managed to learn that the more questions I ask, the more they share, and the deeper this mini meet and greet becomes. So, I kept the focus on myself and held my cards close to my chest.


Five minutes into sharing he apologetically interrupted and said, “Okay, so, before you came I went to the bathroom and I just noticed that I forgot to zip my fly so I’ve been sitting here for two minutes trying to decide how to handle this situation and I’ve decided that I need to just put it out there and tell you that I’m about to zip up my fly”. As he said this he pushed his chair back and in a dramatic effort zipped his pants.

Enough said. But, wait, there’s more…

Out of much surprise to myself I decided that although I wasn’t attracted to him in the least I did enjoy his company and was willing to take more time to get to know him. Plus, I was hungry and needed to eat anyway so figured why not have the company along with my burger?

We decided to change venues and headed over to the nearby burger joint. Just as we left it began to downpour. I had an umbrella so we shared it and all I could think was “Please, let this rain end” as it was so unbearably uncomfortable to be that close to him. At that point I viscerally understood that although the conversation was good and he was sweet, kind, and funny it just couldn’t be forced. Despite this, we went for the burgers anyway.

During dinner and after more indulgence of the Blue Point he asked me about my previous relationship and why it ended. I debated the multiple answers I could’ve given him and decided to tell the truth. “He was 39 and instead of having kids he wants to travel the world on his motorcycle.”.

Apparently, this offended his masculine sensibilities.

“You know, Anna, I’m a very intuitive guy and it seems to me that I’m not really your type and I think that this is too soon for you to be dating anyone again and I don’t ride motorcycles”. I had also shared with him that I love camping and backpacking so he had also added in his monologue, “although I do know how to build a fire, and put up a tent, and I’m not ‘opposed’ to nature, I still think I’m not your type”. Lastly, he said “and, I’m sure I’m the first guy in a long time who you’ve been on a date with who wore a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled down and buttoned at the wrist.”

At this point, I could have easily said,“Thank you very much for dinner” and left my money and walked out. But I said “Is that a question or a statement?” and then he asked me to “confirm” what he had said. I did and explained that we don’t have the chemistry.

Misery. Sheer misery. After all that, he walked me home and said, “Well, think about it. I’m a nice guy and maybe next time I’ll show up with a motorcyle and a tent”. I said goodnight and knew, without a doubt, that I would not be calling him again.

Three online dates later and I am still not convinced that this is the way to meet men. That said, I’m not giving up hope and have another date next weekend with a massage therapist who flies the high trapeze in his spare time. I’m waiting to see whether this is a metaphor or not. Who knows, I may have to return to the good ol’ fashioned art of bumping my cart into some hot guy at the grocery store.

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