By
Maura Shenker
There
are lots of things more fun than a first date...like climbing over a barbed wire
fence naked. But if I had to spend
another Saturday night alone cleaning my kitchen, I was going to stick my head
in the oven. Being single was losing its charm, so I decided to check out a
dating website. P.'s profile
caught my eye and after a few online chats, we decided to meet at a coffee shop
off of South Street and then "play it by ear". Which is online dating
code for "If I don't like the way you look and/or you seem like you might
have a van with blacked-out windows waiting in the alley, I'm not committing
myself to anything more than coffee".
I
arrived first and found a table that met my criteria - I could sit with my
back to the wall and a there was a clear line of sight to the door. I looked up
every time I heard the door open and searched each face, but no P. Just when I thought I was about to be
stood up, P. entered. We said awkward hellos and he gracefully peeled off a
couple of layers (it turned out to be his smoothest move of the evening) and
then got himself a small black coffee. He seemed relaxed and laughed often;
then admitted he had been at a party all afternoon, drinking steadily since 2
p.m. Yes, he had shown up drunk to our first date. Now, I'm no Emily Post and
have been known to make rude noises, obscene gestures and offensive comments,
but I feel everyone should knows to bring their "A game" to a first
date. 
His cell
phone rang and he said it would be quick, but needed to take the call. He
didn't leave the table, and I tried not to eavesdrop, although it's hard when
the person is only 2 feet away from you. I feigned interest in the paper,
skimming advertisements for Asian tranny she-males. However, 20 minutes later I was still sitting there. Having
finished the paper - and noisily put it back together for the next person -- I
was all out of distractions.
So I cleared my throat and gave him my Look. Every woman has a Look and every
man has been on the receiving end of said Look. Mine starts with a 30-degree
head tilt to the right, chin angled slightly downward. The jaw is tightly
clenched, but lips are soft. Looking upward, I peer over the edge of my
glasses, and open my eyes wide - no blinking. Using my magic laser beam glare I
shoot this thought directly into the receiver's brain: "Hey
DoucheCanoe! You're up shit's creek and I'm about to beat you to death with
your own paddle!"*
Although not a single word was spoken, the message was received loud and clear
(it is an incredibly effective Look). P. got off the phone immediately,
realized his gaffe and apologized. {*Tip: Do NOT say the aforementioned magic
mantra out loud or you lose the upper hand, as you've just called someone a
"DoucheCanoe" to their face and lost a tiny part of your dignity}
A little more small talk and the date was basically over, so he escorted me to
my car. I offered him a ride home, some 30 blocks away, but he said he'd rather
walk. A peck on the cheek and he was off into the night. The next day I got an
email from P. saying that he had stopped at a dive bar on his way home and
continued to drink until last call.
He
told me he had spent most of his night trying to figure out if the androgynous
person who kept buying him drinks was actually hitting on him. But as long as this sexually ambiguous
person kept buying the beers, P. was fine with it. I thought this was a modern
twist on the concept of "desirability." It was a variation of a
dating tactic I had used myself about 25 years ago, when I was a 13-year-old
girl. You see this technique used a lot on Tween TV, where the girl sends
herself a big bouquet of flowers, in hopes that the guy she likes will realize
that someone else finds her desirable, and miraculously realize that he too
wants a piece of the action - like leveraging one job offer to get a better
offer with a different company. I
just couldn't figure out why he was bothering. Then I realized that P. wasn't
trying to entice me into a second date, he was probably just an alcoholic.
The
women in my family have a long-standing tradition of making bad choices where
men are concerned. I may not have my mom's pretty brown eyes and I don't make
grandma's amazing roast chicken.
But I did inherit their crushing fear of being alone. It's a painful
legacy to find myself not only accepting, but literally embracing situations I
know will only end in heartache. Diabetes, good manners and bad relationships
may be my birthright, but knowing the final destination has never stopped me
from starting the journey. It's not the way I live my life. So when P. casually
suggested we meet for drinks, I said yes.
There would be a second date.
Maura Shenker lives
and occasionally dates in Port Richmond.