Fishstick.
That is what comes to mind.
White breaded
regularly shaped
bland
expressionless.
Cardboard.
I don't believe I've ever met anyone so singularly unreadable and passionless.
Fifteen minutes or so into the coffee date, I say, "Well, this is certainly feeling very weird and awkward."
"Why?"
"Well, generally I find it easy to get some sense of who a person is within a few minutes. I'm just not getting anything like that."
"This is just to meet. To see if the person is real."
"Real?"
"If they look like their picture. If they seem like their profile."
"So, how am I doing?"
"You look like your picture. You seem honest."
I can't quite convey the lack of expression, the complete absence of emotion.
He asks if I'm Christian. No. Grasping at straws, I say, "Your profile says you're Catholic."
"I'm not trying to convert you," he replies, "it's important to me but that's personal." This is as close to emotional as it gets. Paranoia and defensiveness.
God (excuse the expression) forbid we be personal.
Another desperate crumb picked from his meagre profile. "So, you were married?"
"Yes. Sometimes these things don't work out." No kidding, chum.
"Children?"
"Yes." Please! Don't flood me with information like that.
"Do you see them often?"
"Yes."
"What ages?"
"Young."
Financial planner. "Successful" his ad reads. Matter of opinion, boyo.
So why, dear friends, you may be asking yourself, did I agree to meet Mr. Fishstick for coffee?
Well, because no matter how loud my instincts scream that nothing is going on, my ever-present left brain accepts the logic he's presented, which is:
He is ambivalent about the Internet. He believes that meeting in person is the best way to establish whether there are any like interests or connections. Hell, I'm all for that. And I'm in agreement with the idea that addresses and last names need not be exchanged at first. I'm in agreement until he says it for the third time and I want to blurt out, "Please. I don't even want to know your first name."
We won't discuss my reactions to a cell phone being pulled out.
The other reason I'm on this ill-fated but terribly safe little expedition is that someone really interesting failed to call back at the time he said he would and this was beginning to feel entirely too familiar. I've come to the F*ck You stage about that now. The defiant, chin-out, I-Am-Better-Than-That-How-Dare-You stage.
But really, I didn't think fishsticks would be the result.
Ain't love grand?
And if ONE of you say anything like, "Maybe he's shy," I'm going to make Darkmind a happy man and discuss serving you with tartar sauce.
And MF? If you're reading this...I told you I'd at least get a story out of it.
