I Was a Video Date, Part Deux
By Bonnie Trachtenberg
By the second week a small list of men's names had found their way onto my print out. It's nice to feel wanted. I ran to the dating service after work and looked up the six profiles one by one. No...no...maybe...no...maybe...no way. Then I checked out their videos. One "maybe" became a "no" and the other, although not my ideal mate by any stretch, seemed attractive and personable enough to warrant a "yes."
Being the "eager beaver" that I am I called him that night. He, on the other hand, gave the phrase "eager beaver" a whole new meaning. Could I meet him for coffee in an hour? An hour? Uh, well, I didn't exactly have plans and I was curious. Okay. We met at a nearby deli.
"Wow" he said as I entered the deli. "You're much more attractive in person."
"Really?"
"Yeah, you'll see it's usually the other way around."
Great, I thought.
He then proceeded to tell me that after seeing my photo he knew that we would be together. Together?, I thought. What did he mean by that? I studied his eyes and smirk and realized he didn't mean together in this deli. The biblical sense flashed through my mind and I flinched.
"Really?"
"Yes," he said, "I felt a great attraction to your picture and I knew when we met you'd feel the same about me."
I felt my eyebrows raise. Should I bother to tell him that in person I felt no attraction to him at all? He seemed so convinced of the contrary I had a compulsion to laugh.
I managed to slither out of the date a half hour later.
"I'll call you," he shouted at me as I sprinted toward my car.
The next day when he did, he couldn't understand why I wasn't interested.
"Are you sure?' he asked.
"Yes," I confessed, "I guess we weren't meant to be together after all."
About a week later I was chosen by a rocket scientist. No, I'm not being facetious, he actually did this for a living. Although I was sure I'd have little in common with him, I figured I should broaden my horizons. His pictures were flattering, but something about his video gnawed at me. Since I couldn't quite put my finger on it, I brilliantly decided to ignore it, and agreed to have dinner with him.
He was, surprisingly, even handsome in person - that was until he opened his mouth and an evening's worth of incessant, mumbling chatter began its escape from his lips. As we entered his car I mentioned to him that I had turned my ankle earlier that day and couldn't walk too far. He, in turn, parked in a spot about a quarter mile from the restaurant. As I hobbled to dinner he muttered aimlessly about what I grasped to be three unrelated, but now somehow intermingled subjects.
When we finally arrived at the restaurant I ordered quickly, as I now had a headache to keep my ankle company. I inquired about his work in an attempt to salvage a learning experience. I would immediately live to regret it. He sputtered like a computer on massive overload, spewing out disjointed thoughts and abruptly cutting himself off at every turn, until soon, all I could manage was a blank stare in his general direction. I tried to escape to the ladies room but it was hopeless. I couldn't get a word in edgewise. Not even "excuse me." I finally stood up on my good leg and motioned my intentions. When I reached the ladies room sink I splashed my face and basked in the glorious sound of silence.
Later, after four Advil and an ice pack, I vowed never to disregard my instincts again.
But instincts aren't quite as helpful as, say, E.S.P. unfortunately, so I was destined for a few more misjudgments. The next one arrived in the form of a gynecologist. He insisted I meet him at his "condo on the beach." I arrived at "bachelor pad heaven" armed with mace (just in case) and found an expensively dressed but somewhat scrawny man with a leer in his eye. I immediately knew I was not attracted as he sauntered over-confidently through his slick, modern decor and up to his terrace door.
"My backyard," he said with a pompous smirk as he slid the door open to reveal the Pacific. As I glanced over the waves I knew this would be a long, irritating evening.
After dinner, he confided in me why he joined the dating service.
"It's not that I have any problem getting women," he boasted, "quite the contrary. They're all after me, but I just keep meeting these gorgeous model types with nothing upstairs. They all want to marry me, but I really want someone with substance."
Why? I thought. It's obvious you have none. But I held my tongue. That is until we entered his car and he put his hand on my leg.
"I think we should get together again," he said.
Graced with his presence for a second time? I crossed my legs, forcing his hand to drop to the seat.
"I don't think so," I replied.
There was silence for a moment and then I noticed the shock on his face.
"What?" he asked in a flabbergasted tone.
"We really have nothing in common," I said, "and actually, I'm just not attracted to you."
Of course I could have omitted the second half of the explanation, but this night I would afford myself the pleasure.
The next several dates were somewhat more enjoyable, but still a blur of mere variations of each other. They all looked different, but somehow I felt I was meeting the same man over and over again, like a broken record. Many were nice people - people I wouldn't disparage - but not anyone that made me glad I was out with him instead of home with my cat and an old movie.
The dates were basically interviews. The same "getting to know you" questions were forced on each other. I tried to look beyond whether or not chemistry existed and concentrate on what I told myself were the important things. Was he nice? Did he come from a similar background? Was he stable? Was he ambitious? Would he be good to me? Would he be allergic to my cat? Until I soon realized that even if every question had been answered correctly, it would have made absolutely no difference to me without the chemistry.
As I approached my fifteenth date, I too, was about to join the ranks of the bored and the jaded, for I had entered First Date Hell: an endless stream of disappointing dates that never lead anywhere except to the hope that maybe the next man would surprise me. It was like banging your head against a wall. A proverbial dead-end on the road of love. Of course, like most things, it had an upside. I did get to wear the same outfit repeatedly.
Finally, I realized that maybe the problem was the vehicle I had chosen, not the drivers. It could be this set up was just too convenient for me, too calculated, too forced. Although it had worked for my sister and many others, maybe I was just too much of a romantic to find my own true love on the magnetic images of a video monitor. Maybe I wouldn't even recognize him if he were here. Perhaps these date/interviews took all the spontaneity and mystique out of what makes an exciting, magical attraction grow. Or possibly, this place only attracts a certain type of man - the type I, personally, would never fall for.
I put myself on "hold" to reflect on all this. I never went back. After all, maybe there are certain things in life that should be out of our control. Maybe that's what makes falling in love such a rare treat.
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