A Very First First date
Am I alone in that "dating around" has never really been a thing for me? Instead, it appears my romanticizations have always stemmed, in some capacity, from a previously established relationship. I don't know if it's just an aversion to the 'unknown' characteristic of those initial meetings and inevitable bouts of awkwardness, but in my mind, it always seems preferential to have a somewhat informed understanding of someone before even considering the idea of dating. I mean, in books and movies, isn't it so fulfilling when the two best friends realize they're in love? Aren't we rooting for them with fatalistic romanticism (and maybe even wishing that were us)? Oh, to long for every individual to have an unexpected love affair that begins with an honest view of one's counterpart! But alas, even my romanticized view failed to stop my reluctant resolution to "put myself out there" this year.
I've downloaded and deleted dating apps more times than I can count in the last three years. For the most part, my busy schedule has made them a last priority, inducing their eventual deletion. But I should also add that each time I open one, I begin to feel somewhat vain and judgemental after about ten minutes. It makes me question whether others find more enjoyment in them than I do because, when I reflect on how 90% of my likes and dislikes are based on physical attraction, a sense of immorality creeps up within me. Now, though, finding myself in a new phase of unemployment with abundant time on my hands, Hinge has persevered for over a month on my phone. Perhaps boredom was the cure?
I've only "matched" with three people in my tenure as a user. Honestly, it's been seemingly impossible to find someone halfway decent. Maybe it's high standards, or perhaps it's being in the DMV vs. a place like New York, because I'll say, the few friends I've shown my "compatible" potential matches have questioned why on earth these people would be deemed "compatible" with me. So it surprised me when I matched with a guy who, per his profile, was attractive, seemingly leftist, and into skiing — not to mention one of his photos was of him and his grandma — a win!
"Ladies that want to have a fun date as friends first, lovers later."
This was his response to the prompt "I go crazy for" on his profile. Per the beginning of this post, I still desire a friendly conversation before making any moves, so his statement charmed and delighted me. I even replied to it, writing, "I think this is the first relatable comment I've seen on the app…Why is no one else talking about this??" He responded with a punny joke about my interest in climate policy. I told him about my friend's old dog named Trotsky, and we both talked about the latest books we've read (I gave him major points for his last being Naomi Klein's Doppelganger). He seemed kind and intellectual, so when he asked me to make plans, I gave myself up to the potential rapture of meeting.
I chose the time and place: Thursday night (for a not-too-committal meeting) at a bar called Galaxy Hut. Black vinyl chairs and chrome-lined diner tables filled the red-lit establishment, while the ceilings were painted with comical speech balloons and the walls with cartoons. It was laid-back with a great craft beer and vegan food selection, and arriving first with beating nerves, I was calmed by the presence of seemingly former Pavement and Sonic-Youth-listening Generation X-ers seated at the bar.
My date arrived "dressed to the nines" (as my nana would say) in an overcoat and a blue knit scarf. After exchanging the nice-to-meet-you's and a hug, he immediately explained his outfit as a consequence of interviewing all day because he was "on that unemployment grind." I said I was a fellow un-employee, to which he (maybe a bit too) excitedly stated that made him feel SO much better.
He settled in by ordering a "fricken sandwich" and a German Kölsch, making mention of his eager preference for lighter beers. I got a tangy blueberry sour and eggplant fries. I found it a plus that when I offered some fries, he eagerly complied and munched away.
He seemed like someone who could be relatively comfortable in various situations. Outgoing, for sure, and as we began to converse, his high-spirited manner of talking was palpable. On paper, he was an ideal — former U.C. Santa Barbara student who concentrated in Latin American affairs and moved to D.C. to try and make it in the realm of social impact, bartending to pay rent and zealous for political conversation — the latter consuming the majority of the night's dialogue.
I want to clarify that he didn't exhibit the typical mansplaining behavior I've unfortunately become accustomed to. That said, he was undoubtedly impassioned. With great fervor, he asserted his views on the old vs. new left, failures of democrats today, belief in revolution, John Pilger's War on Democracy, Rosa Luxembourg, Slavoj Zizek's A Pervert's Guide to Ideology, Che Guevara, Fidel Castro, and Democracy Now. As we talked about the foreboding of Trump's likely reelection, he exasperated himself with an analysis of neo-fascism and the genius of contemporary populism per its co-opting of leftist platforms and galvanization of working-class individuals.
He listened attentively as I inserted my takes and knowledge occasionally, but for the most part, I felt more like saying, "Hear, Hear!" and throwing my fist in the air than contributing my own assay. Like get this man a soap box and a mic; he's got a lot to say and is well-spoken. Hell, maybe he'll even start the revolution he keeps talking about. But as he said himself, "Wow, okay, maybe this is a lot for a first date?"
The rhetoric wasn't the only source of his energy. His mention of being raised on a ranch in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, was outwardly ostentatious. After I returned from grabbing another beer, he looked at his phone and said, "Looks like I'm gonna be wearing cowboy boots soon. You know, I can be Western as fuck at the flip of a switch! Like riiiding horses and scooping horse shit, allll that." I was confused because for such a supposedly humble way of growing up, why did he speak in a mode of flamboyant theatrics? I wondered whether it was just a first date thing or if his speechful and exuberant manner was a fixed quality. I'll note, at times, that I just wanted to stop the conversation and ask, "Is this real?"
At some point, I got up to get some water at the bar. While waiting, I watched a small T.V. in a corner play a movie with Robin Williams and some other actor I didn't recognize. A voice to my left said, "Have you seen this before? It's with Nathan Lane, but I forget the name." Looking over, I saw an older man with long white hair and an accompanying salt-and-pepper beard that would make even Jerry Garcia jealous. I smiled and said no, but looking it up on my phone, I asked, "Is it The Birdcage?" He exclaimed, "Yes! It began on Broadway, and then they adapted it. Ah! What a great movie!"
He introduced himself as Colin and asked if I'd been here before. I told him no and that I was surprised to find such a place that echoed the unglamorous and neighborly warmth of dive bars I missed in Philly because, in my opinion, D.C. has a large deficit. "Oh but you're mistaken, 'cause this place is the O.G.!" he retorted. "Dave Grohl sat right here! And this used to be a regular visit for The Killers too!" When I told him the only band I knew that used to frequent these parts was Fugazi, shock and delight took hold of his face as he went to fist pump me and say, "No way!!! Now, you just got major credibility points from me! You know, they used to live right around the corner from here near [an undisclosed location]? But don't tell anyone because they'd be pissed if people knew, you know?" (Sure, Colin — I got you)
Amidst asking me about Philly and sharing that he lived there for a year, my date came over and said, "Sorry to interrupt, but I think I'm gonna go…" I felt somewhat bad and said, "Oh, well, let's at least get some water," and shook hands goodbye with Colin. At the water stand, he asked what I'd been talking about with "that old guy." Now was my turn for exuberance as I recapitulated our interaction. Smiling and feeling the excitement building in my chest, I exclaimed how awesome it was to meet someone like that, who probably has so many stories to tell from an era I wish I'd experienced. I said I loved talking to older people for that reason and that sometimes I feel I have more in common with those of older generations than with my own. I think this was maybe unfamiliar territory for my date because it was the first time he didn't have a monologue for a reply.
We parted ways shortly after. Outside, he said, "Stay in touch!" and I wondered about the probability of those words, what he'd thought during the night, and what his reflections would be. During the ride home, I kept thinking about something a professor once said about abandoning the idea of "getting to know" another person and, instead, "learning to be with another person." When my classmates and I first met for his course, he told us, "Please don't share ‘traits.’ Don't talk about your family, your past, your major, religion, your hometown, etc. However, please do share favorite books, films, reasons for taking the course, and ideas. We will get to know each other by our ideas, not our traits." Looking back on the night, I judged where I'd achieved the "being with" my date. I'd argue that most of our meeting was characterized by sharing ideas, books, films, and desires in life, with only a dash of hometown and university discourse. Overall, I think I got a good sense of what it was to "be with" him. So, perhaps this is why I can admit that my favorite part of the night was my impromptu exchange with that old man at the bar, Colin. All I can say is, I listened to Fugazi the whole way home.