Date 1: Dumas and Diarrhea
K from IJL called to tell me about the first match they had selected for me: "His name is H, he's a 7th grade teacher, he's 5'10", 38, he likes to golf, he would like to travel..." She droned on for awhile, tearing through a laundry list of his attributes and interests, but I eventually tuned out because she was talking so fast. It's not clear to me that I have the right to turn any of their selections down, anyway, so unless I hear "and he likes to slice women into little bits and bury them in the forest," I don't plan to object.
A few minutes before the allotted meeting time, I went into the bar and gave the hostess my name. All IJL reservations are supposed to be under only the first names of both of the matches, to maintain anonymity. "Hmm...no, I don't have that here. Could it be under another name?" I gave H's name, but still no luck. She ignored the fact that they didn't have my reservation, and told me they were behind and it would be a few minutes before they could seat me. She doesn't seem to understand that I don't KNOW who my date is, and so if she seats me, I'm just going to sit there by myself for an hour. Do I really have to tell her that I'm on an IJL blind date, and that I haven't a clue what he looks like?
When we get back to the front, there's a guy standing there who mutters something to the hostess, and she also can't find his name. He's nerdy-looking, wearing a shlumpy off-white sweater, ill-fitting khakis, and some sort of weird dark blue nylon windbreaker that says "I graduated from American University!" And I know. This is what I get for putting "intelligent" on the top of my list of desired attributes in a mate. I sighed and walked over to him. "Are you H, by any chance?" "Why yes, I am," he answered, looking me over with a big smile. Great.
We sat down, and a waiter brought us a drink menu. I peered with interest at the menu of fancy martinis that was hung over the bar. H said something which I didn't hear, but ended in "but I always just tell them, it's a school night! And every day is a school night for me!" I was still trying to pick a drink so I just nodded and smiled absently, since judging by his demeanor it was apparently some sort of joke. I decided on my drink, and then offered him the drink menu. He declined it, and then proceeded to repeat what I assume was the same joke as before. "No no, I don't drink during the week. My friends always want me to go out for drinks during the week, but I always just tell them, it's a school night. And every day is a school night for me, because I'm a teacher, you know! It's really about discipline. I like to keep myself disciplined, because otherwise I'd just be drunk every night. I remember this one time that a teacher showed up at school and he just looked awful, like he'd been out the night before, and the kids all talked about how awful he looked, and you KNOW if the kids are talking about it it's pretty bad...I work with this woman who LOVES to go out to the clubs and I just don't know how she does it! She's out every night with her boyfriend at the clubs, and then comes into work the next day! I just can't stay up that late...oh, so, I'm going to order a salad, because I don't really recognize anything on the menu, I mean I know WHAT foie gras is, but I'm sure I don't want to eat it, and I'm certainly not ordering this "red wine braised rabbit," I mean come on, who eats that?"
I'd like to point out here that anytime I include a "..." it's not because he trailed off the sentence, but because he kept talking and I either (a) don't remember what else he said or (b) it was even more boring that what I've included here, and I didn't have the heart to put you through it.
He rambled on about a group of four friends that he golfs with, and how they want to kick one of the foursome out because he is annoying. I wonder idly if I might like to date this friend, since I suspect that if I was forced to spend time with H, I might be as irritating as possible in the hope of escaping with my sanity. From this friend, he went to another friend that he liked to call "D-U-M-A-S" (he spelled it out), and then he waited, giving me no details, like I was supposed to get it. "Are you guys the three musketeers, or something," I asked with bewilderment. He looked at me blankly. "You know, Alexandre Dumas?" He shook his head. "No, no, just add a B between the M and the A, and an extra S!" he responded, laughing at the joke. Oh my god.
My cheese plate and a desperately needed (second) glass of wine arrived. "So do you like to go to new restaurants?" He launched into a story about the Cheesecake Factory (new restaurants?), and how this one time he and his brother went there, and he must have eaten something that disagreed with him, because he had to go to the bathroom EVERY HOUR for HOURS after that. Thanks, diarrhea goes well with my cheese plate. And is the implication of this story that he doesn't like to go to risky restaurants with fancy food like the Cheesecake Factory anymore?
After I finished my wine I frantically signalled the waiter for the check (it had been about an hour and a half at this point). I threw $40 at the check (IJL specifically states that you go dutch). I probably only owed $30 or so, but I refused to take any change since that would have delayed our departure. H pocketed the change rather than just leaving extra tip for the waiter as I'd intended -- paying a total of $8 himself, though he had a $10 salad and a couple of gingerales. I wouldn't consider this a huge deal, although it's clear he's one of those people who, when calculating the bill in a group, completely ignores the fact that adding up your individual items doesn't include tax and tip.
I gratefully got up, then realized that he planned to metro one stop from Gallery Place to Metro Center (the same train I was taking); I tentatively suggested that we could walk a few blocks to Metro Center (so that the inevitable train wait would be at different tracks). But he declared that to be a few blocks too far. So we walked together to the metro, and then waited an interminable 12 minutes for the train (I knew that I wouldn't get lucky on that timing). Finally we got on the train, and I considered with great hope the possibility that maybe he didn't like me, or maybe if I just keep talking there won't be time..."
"So, I'm only riding for one metro stop..." Shit. "It was great to meet you, I would love to do this again sometime!"
I smiled and said it was really great to meet him, but I just didn't think there was any chemistry. I wished him luck at IJL. Thankfully Metro Center is only a minute from Gallery Place, so the ensuing awkward silence was short. One down, 13 to go.
IJL compatibility rating: 0. Nowhere to go but up!
A few minutes before the allotted meeting time, I went into the bar and gave the hostess my name. All IJL reservations are supposed to be under only the first names of both of the matches, to maintain anonymity. "Hmm...no, I don't have that here. Could it be under another name?" I gave H's name, but still no luck. She ignored the fact that they didn't have my reservation, and told me they were behind and it would be a few minutes before they could seat me. She doesn't seem to understand that I don't KNOW who my date is, and so if she seats me, I'm just going to sit there by myself for an hour. Do I really have to tell her that I'm on an IJL blind date, and that I haven't a clue what he looks like?
When we get back to the front, there's a guy standing there who mutters something to the hostess, and she also can't find his name. He's nerdy-looking, wearing a shlumpy off-white sweater, ill-fitting khakis, and some sort of weird dark blue nylon windbreaker that says "I graduated from American University!" And I know. This is what I get for putting "intelligent" on the top of my list of desired attributes in a mate. I sighed and walked over to him. "Are you H, by any chance?" "Why yes, I am," he answered, looking me over with a big smile. Great.
We sat down, and a waiter brought us a drink menu. I peered with interest at the menu of fancy martinis that was hung over the bar. H said something which I didn't hear, but ended in "but I always just tell them, it's a school night! And every day is a school night for me!" I was still trying to pick a drink so I just nodded and smiled absently, since judging by his demeanor it was apparently some sort of joke. I decided on my drink, and then offered him the drink menu. He declined it, and then proceeded to repeat what I assume was the same joke as before. "No no, I don't drink during the week. My friends always want me to go out for drinks during the week, but I always just tell them, it's a school night. And every day is a school night for me, because I'm a teacher, you know! It's really about discipline. I like to keep myself disciplined, because otherwise I'd just be drunk every night. I remember this one time that a teacher showed up at school and he just looked awful, like he'd been out the night before, and the kids all talked about how awful he looked, and you KNOW if the kids are talking about it it's pretty bad...I work with this woman who LOVES to go out to the clubs and I just don't know how she does it! She's out every night with her boyfriend at the clubs, and then comes into work the next day! I just can't stay up that late...oh, so, I'm going to order a salad, because I don't really recognize anything on the menu, I mean I know WHAT foie gras is, but I'm sure I don't want to eat it, and I'm certainly not ordering this "red wine braised rabbit," I mean come on, who eats that?"
I'd like to point out here that anytime I include a "..." it's not because he trailed off the sentence, but because he kept talking and I either (a) don't remember what else he said or (b) it was even more boring that what I've included here, and I didn't have the heart to put you through it.
He rambled on about a group of four friends that he golfs with, and how they want to kick one of the foursome out because he is annoying. I wonder idly if I might like to date this friend, since I suspect that if I was forced to spend time with H, I might be as irritating as possible in the hope of escaping with my sanity. From this friend, he went to another friend that he liked to call "D-U-M-A-S" (he spelled it out), and then he waited, giving me no details, like I was supposed to get it. "Are you guys the three musketeers, or something," I asked with bewilderment. He looked at me blankly. "You know, Alexandre Dumas?" He shook his head. "No, no, just add a B between the M and the A, and an extra S!" he responded, laughing at the joke. Oh my god.
My cheese plate and a desperately needed (second) glass of wine arrived. "So do you like to go to new restaurants?" He launched into a story about the Cheesecake Factory (new restaurants?), and how this one time he and his brother went there, and he must have eaten something that disagreed with him, because he had to go to the bathroom EVERY HOUR for HOURS after that. Thanks, diarrhea goes well with my cheese plate. And is the implication of this story that he doesn't like to go to risky restaurants with fancy food like the Cheesecake Factory anymore?
After I finished my wine I frantically signalled the waiter for the check (it had been about an hour and a half at this point). I threw $40 at the check (IJL specifically states that you go dutch). I probably only owed $30 or so, but I refused to take any change since that would have delayed our departure. H pocketed the change rather than just leaving extra tip for the waiter as I'd intended -- paying a total of $8 himself, though he had a $10 salad and a couple of gingerales. I wouldn't consider this a huge deal, although it's clear he's one of those people who, when calculating the bill in a group, completely ignores the fact that adding up your individual items doesn't include tax and tip.
I gratefully got up, then realized that he planned to metro one stop from Gallery Place to Metro Center (the same train I was taking); I tentatively suggested that we could walk a few blocks to Metro Center (so that the inevitable train wait would be at different tracks). But he declared that to be a few blocks too far. So we walked together to the metro, and then waited an interminable 12 minutes for the train (I knew that I wouldn't get lucky on that timing). Finally we got on the train, and I considered with great hope the possibility that maybe he didn't like me, or maybe if I just keep talking there won't be time..."
"So, I'm only riding for one metro stop..." Shit. "It was great to meet you, I would love to do this again sometime!"
I smiled and said it was really great to meet him, but I just didn't think there was any chemistry. I wished him luck at IJL. Thankfully Metro Center is only a minute from Gallery Place, so the ensuing awkward silence was short. One down, 13 to go.
IJL compatibility rating: 0. Nowhere to go but up!
posted by Katie S @ 10:43 AM
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