God is a comedian, and Other Dating Lessons Learned

We all meet people here and there… on myspace, at the grocery store, a bar, wherever. If you happen to be single, and dating people, you’ll likely give your phone number to that lucky man/woman who caught your eye. Hopefully they’ll call (or these days- text), but sometimes they don’t. Othertimes they do, but for various reasons, we decide we’re really not that into this person after all. Or perhaps they aren’t interested in us, and over time, the communication stops.

When this would happen to me, I used to simply delete the number from my phone. Doesn’t everybody? Well actually I guess I know the answer to that question… I am learning that people put my number in their phones with the intention of allowing it to remain there for all eternity. This can make for some awkward times, especially as the men I tend to meet are big texters. It isn’t as if they’re calling, and I can pick up on who they are by the sound of their voices. Once or twice a week I find myself getting a random text message from someone I have long since deleted from my phone. When this initially began to happen, I would text the person back with a simple but polite, “who is this?” I soon realized that this is a great way to piss people off. When people are putting my number into their phone (again, for all eternity), they are apparently under the assumption that I am doing the same. So when I have the gall to ask who they may be, I tend to get cussed out.

Bearing this in mind, I recently decided to change my tactic. When I would receive these random messages, if I was curious enough to know who’s sending the message, I would respond back with a “hey- how have you been?”. I’d just act like I knew who it was, with the idea being that over the course of our back and forth messaging, they would say something, or refer to something that would make the lightbulb go off in my head- and I would have that sudden “aha!” moment. I can then make my decision as to whether or not to continue chatting with him. Either way, I now know who I’m getting the messages from, and I can therefore choose my course of action- to continue to communicate, or not.

So, the other day, I get this random message from yet another number I do not recognize… “hey you- do you miss me?” Clearly, to respond with, “who’s this?” would be inappropriate. So I text him back, “where you been?” Surely his response will jog my memory…

Throughout the course of the day, we continue texting back and forth… small talk, and I continue to wrack my brain trying to figure out who the hell this man is. His number is vaguely familiar… his name is right on the tip of my tongue… WAIT!! It’s “Steve”!! Whew, that was close! I remember “Steve”… he was the guy I saw a few times all those months ago, who apparently dropped off the face of the earth- or broke his fingers- because he stopped calling.

So “Steve” has apparently awaken from his coma… and is asking me out. He wants me to meet him after work at this trendy little spot up the street from my office. I agree, thinking, why not? Not like I have anything else going on tonight.

I pull up, walk inside… searching, searching… where is he? Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see someone waving, and can hear him calling my name- “Chrissy! I’m over here…” Slowly I turn in that direction, and realize, to my horror… it is most definitely NOT “Steve” that’s waving at me. In fact, it is not anyone I know, nor is it anyone I ever remember even laying eyes on. Now what?

I’ve never been known to do things the simple way- which would have been to walk up to the guy, explain that there’s been a big misunderstanding and admit that I have no clue who the hell he is. Instead, I took a deep breath, put on my best oh-my-God-it’s-so-good-to-see-you-again face and boldly walked over to the table he’d reserved. As soon as I sit down, I realize I’ve likely made a mistake, and should have run the moment I realized I’m meeting a total stranger. Who the heck IS this guy, anyway??

I am feeling pretty awkward by the time our food arrives, as I still have not succeeded in figuring out this man’s name, nor has he said one word about himself that has triggered even the smallest spark of recognition. However, I’m Chrissy, the Hard-Headed One, and I am still not ready to rat myself out. Suddenly, between bites of yummy seafood, I get a plan. I’m so sneaky! I calmly ask him, “so, do you have any nicknames? I love hearing about people’s nicknames, and where they came from, because I think it’s a peak into their personalities…” Pretty slick, huh? I say a silent prayer… let’s hope his nickname is Chris, because his real name is Christopher, or something equally simple. That way, problem solved, I will KNOW who I’m sitting with!

He pauses… mouth disgustingly full of food. He slowly puts his fork down, swallows (I swear I could HEAR the gulping noise it made), looks me in the eye and says… “you don’t have a clue who I am, do you?” BUSTED! I momentarily considered playing the, how-dare-you-accuse-me-of-going-out-to-dinner-with-a-man-I-was-only-pretending-to-know card, but really, what was the point? Instead, I lower my head, shovel another forkful of food into my own mouth and admit, “nope. I have no idea…”

I learned a few things that night. First, God is a comedian. Second, I am not nearly as slick as I thought I was. Third, never delete another person’s number from my phone.

For those of you that are curious… the answer is no. I never heard from him again.

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