“And I ran, I ran so far away”

-A Flock of Seagulls

Not long after the disaster of my first Tinder date did I manage to begin recovery with Sandra. The Tinder gods said we were a match while I was drunk-swiping AND being stood up by Shelby, all at the same time. On paper we got along just fine, she was witty, held a good conversation, frequented similar establishments and had a job and no kids. Her profile pics included some showing her squatting during softball, sitting at a dinner table with friends, a selfie laying down with her dog, the driving selfie( a real skill) and her newly done toes. Anyhow, after a few days of flirtatious texting we decided to get together. Now fearing a repeat of The Virgin Sturgeon night I chose to meet her on her turf, plus downtown Sac always provides a good chance to get drunk and make mistakes. She suggested a small chain “Burgers and Brews”, great food, fun atmosphere and solid beer, plus it showed she might be a girl that’s not ashamed to actually eat. I brought out a nice pair of jeans, polka dotted socks (sock game strong) and a pair of lightly mocha Clarks and yes, I wore a shirt too. I stole my roommate’s cologne, again, but this time no need for gel with a new haircut and lineup. I could feel the excitement slowly replacing the fear from last time. Shelby no longer had a hold of me, I was ready to meet, greet and sweep this little Tinderonie off her feet. The Redemption would happen tonight. I requested an Uber, Black Car at that, and had my scotch to ease any nerves that may have lingered. As I waited for Larry, my driver, I went over the plan for the night. We’d eat and drink, share some conversation, plant a couple jokes and light stories, maybe exchange some horror stories from online dating and then start our own little beer crawl. Let the chips fall where they may. Half way through my thoughts and the glass of Scotch Larry rang me and off I went like Cinderella in her Rolls Royce pumpkin. I got in the back of the car and exchanged the obligatory Q&A with Larry (How long have you been driving, How do you like it etc.) we somehow got on to the topic of what my evening had in store. NATURALLY, I spilled my guts to this stranger and as soon as I mentioned Tinder, Larry shared his own horror story of a Tinder date gone awry and how real the catfish game was but who was Larry anyways. That wouldn’t be happening to me, the universe couldn’t be that cruel. I had a phone number, a face, an Instagram and like 128 hours of text messages. We had arrived, 15 min early again.

The night was lively, Burgers & Brew slightly packed and a little noisy, but not obnoxiously loud.  I stepped through the door and scanned the room, no sign of Sandra. NO WORRIES, I went to the bar and ordered a Heff, people watched and relaxed.  NO SOCIAL ANXIETY kicking in whatsoever, I stepped out for a cigarette.  Palms a little sweaty and heart picking up a few beats I made my way back in. Those 15 min were up, I scanned the room once more, again no sign. No way this was happening two times in a row. I went back to finish my beer and send a text letting my date know that I was here. After a few minutes and a last scan of the crowd I rose from the stool and prepared for another walk of shame. Heading to the door in defeat and disappointment I hear my name called, or growled or howled if you may. I turned to look and couldn’t make out the noise and then it happened. First I saw the arm, then the chin, then the cheeks then the eyes and then the profile pictures all made sense. I stood there confused for what seemed to be hours, dumbfounded by the reality of my Friday night. I my friends had just been catfished, across from me sat a bully of a woman that had the gift of gab and words, a sharp tongue, good humor and real personality. The only problem, I cringe and apologize as I write this because I was not supposed to be put in a position to be this honest, was that she was a solid extra 80 pounds (20 of which may have been in makeup and eyebrows), a triple chin and a lack of Instagram filters different. It was the equivalent of you ladies meeting a guy in the darkness and comfort of your favorite club after one too many Malibu and Pineapples. You swap numbers, agreeing to a date only to find out your Tom Hardy is really a 8 inch shorter, fluffier, balding version of Tom Cruise. I my friends had just found myself in your shoes this time. My first reaction was to turn and walk out the door, run, run far away, but I fought the urge. I’m not a shallow person and believe everyone has their positives and negative aspects but come on, why the lies? Who was she to assume I wouldn’t be attracted to her as she was? Either way, I was already here, it was Friday and I was a beer and a scotch in, so why not. We sat and shared conversation about our day, the waiter came by and took our order, I had the Fuji Salad and she had the Chorizo Burger. She had the Chimay, not a cheap beer and I had some water. Was I sending subtle hints? I learned Sandra was in between jobs and “working on herself”, she had recently joined a Cross Fit gym and was apparently making major strides. She even shared a few tips on how to strengthen up. Maybe she could put down her appetizer first? We talked about our experience on Tinder and the horrors of meeting people on this app (like being catfished?) and ignored the elephant in the room. I couldn’t help but show my disappointment. She knew it, how could she not? When asked if something was wrong I attempted to lie through my teeth only to say “You’re not who I expected.” Bam, grenade of truth pin pulled. She looked at me, with some of the most hurt puppy eyes, like she had just gotten caught pissing on the floor. I swallowed the lump in my throat, “It’s cool, I’m having a good time. You’re a lot of fun.” We proceeded to finish our meals; well she finished hers plus my side order of garlic fries. It was at that moment that I knew I had to shout the truth because if not we were going to enter that awkward moment where she’d ask to go have another drink, or I’d suggest another drink then wham! Next thing I know I’m catching the ride of shame home to shower and scrub off the shame. Here’s my “Parental Advisory” disclaimer for those of you who appreciate brutal honesty: “I can’t do this. You’re a liar and you catfished me. There’s absolutely nothing right with who or what you do. I legitimately was attracted to who you pretended to be. So fuck me.” What really got me was that she sat there dumbfounded, with the look of disgust. Like I was the bad guy here.  Like I had done something horribly wrong. But remember, hell hath no fury: “You’re a bitch, that’s why you’re not getting laid tonight.” She shot back under her breath but not so subtlety. I quickly gathered myself and with no sort of a comeback simply walked out of the restaurant. Did Sandra have a point? Could it be that I needed to treat Tinder for what it really was? A quick way to piss in the wind and get it in, not giving two shits about who or what I spent 180 seconds of my life with. Those were just a few thoughts that ran through my head as I made my way down the street to meet with some friends and pretend the night never happened.

P.S. I did eventually text her in a drunken state that evening asking “Do you want to drink?” and we did end up “watching Netflix”.  Why? Because I didn’t want to be “that guy” and it guaranteed some companionship for the night. I could blame the alcohol, wash the shame off and deny, deny, deny a la Slick Willie and his now infamous “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” testimony. Who would know what I did (other than you all now)? With that, I began my descent into the real macabre basement that only Tinder and Online Dating can bring.

Maybe Flock of Seagulls had it right in that one line, when dealing with online dating, we should all just run, run so far away. After all, it’s only a matter of time before your “swipe right” materializes from an online avatar to what Pinocchio would call “a REAL girl”. Stripped of the filters, glamour pics and faux smiles, aren’t we all just flesh and bone? Yes, some of us more blessed than others in with our appearance, achievements and adventurous lifestyles, so how do you separate yourself from these bid-jackals? When creating an online profile, the single most important decision you make is selecting the pictures that sell the idea of you, as a perfectly normal, trusting, inviting and maybe a bit adventurous guy. As a man you must refrain with all your might from the “dick pic” as your profile pic. Relax, there are other ways to tell the world who you really are. This is even more important on Tinder. It’s an art, a painfully meticulous process that will make or break your profile. It can be the key to a flirtatious chat, that leads to a number, drinks, and an exchange fluids and that ends with an Uber ride-of-shame home (that you have pay for of course). On the flip side, failing to deliver enticing photos leads to somebody unceremoniously throwing you away to the “left.” We judge, analyze, rate and deem worth a “swipe right”(remember you don’t get unlimited swipes anymore) within a matter of seconds. That picture of you backpacking in Brazil has the power to open somebody’s Pandora’s Box and create at the very least a “Netflix and chill” story to text your best friend. However, upload an ill-advised selfie and brace yourself for a night on your couch with the cat, a Pabst, Little Cesar’s and your choice of Gilmore Girls or Hardcore Porn. No pressure with this decision right? No reason to lie about who you are or upload who you used to be. You know who I’m talking about, the pre muffin top, enhanced by Mayfair, Valencia or X-Pro filters or the “these pics are from Vegas(real life caption, I have the thread to prove it) I’m not really a party girl shots.” Let’s not forget the fellas, the ones who post a pic holding a bud light and no shirt cruising the lake on a badass speed boat, never mind that it’s my brother’s and I rent a room in a house with a mattress on the floor. I’m talking about those of us posting pictures in work suits with #workflow #swag as opposed to #personalassistant or #mailroomlife. These are the Queen and Kings of angles so I only post from 270 degrees or “the from chest up”. Maybe they’re ahead of the curve, maybe I’m bitter and jaded and maybe I need to step up my photoshop game.