Why I Love Singlehood: (12 page)

DING DING DING

(Actually, there was more conversation than that, but why put you through it?)

Guy#2: Good-looking, actually. I think he Botoxes, though.

Him
: Hi.

(extends his hand.)

Still him
: I’m John.

(Am I going through the Apostles?)

Me
: John? I’m Eva.

Him
: That’s a pretty name.

Me
: Thanks.

Him
: So, tell me about yourself in eight minutes or less.

Me
: I own my own business.

(Gosh, those two bookend owns look terrible on the screen. Didn’t sound so repetitive at the time…)

Him
: (eyes widen) Wow! What kind of business are you in?

Me
: I own a coffee shop near the college.

Him
: Wait a minute…are you talking about The Grounds?

Me
: Yep.

Him
: Oh my fucking god! I been there!

(Whoa. Too much excitement there…)

Me
: Cool. Did you like it?

Him
: Well, it seemed to be a bunch of bookworms in there, but the coffee was pretty good.

DING DING DING

Guy #3: Pudgy. Bald spot. Looks like he lives with his mother.
Poor guy. Isn’t stereotyping awful? Let’s just ring the bell and move on.

Guy #4: I forget his name. Something with a Q, I think.

Him
: What kind of business do you own?

Me
: Coffee shop.

Him
: Well that’s not much of a lofty enterprise, is it.

Me
: What do you mean?

Him
: What’re you pullin’ out on a yearly basis? Me: Ask my accountant, you moron. (OK, so I said the second part in my head.)

Him
: You don’t even know how much your business makes?

Me
: I know exactly how much my business brings in. I just don’t think it’s any of your business. (Moron)

Him
: I’m just sayin’ that if you wanna make any real money, you don’t go into food or retail to do it.

Me
: Tell that to Howard Schultz.

Him
: Who?

Me
: The Starbucks guy.

(He’s unimpressed. I would’ve been impressed. After all, how many people know that the guy who started Starbucks is Howard Schultz? How impressed am I that I can even remember that now, while I’m a little soused?)

Him
: So how long you been in business?

Me
: A couple of years. Before that I was a professor.

Him
: Of what?

Me
: Creative writing.

Him
: You’re a liberal, aren’t you.

DING DING DING

Guy #5 was Norman.

Me
: So, do you believe this?

N
: I got a marriage proposal.

Me
: (mouth opens) You’re shitting me.

N
: Absolutely not.

Me
: And?

N
: And she has fifty thousand dollars worth of credit card debt.

Me
: She told you that?

N
: Every last dollar.

Me
: What was the context of this? I mean, how did this come into the conversation?

N
: I think I mentioned something about my comic book collection.

Me
: I’m not seeing the connection.

N
: So how ’bout you? Any takers so far?

Me
: I’ve got Harley Davidson, Botox Bob—or John, actually—and Donald Trump.

Norman winced. Minerva was at the table ahead of us, and truth be told, I had been trying to listen in on her dates. I mean, what was she saying to them? It occurred to me at that moment that sitting there talking to Norman was the most comfortable I’d been all night.

This was getting depressing fast.

Guy #6

Me
: (very unenthusiastically) I’m Eva.

Him
: I’m Todd.

(I eye him suspiciously.)

Me
: How old are you?

Him
: I’m twenty-four.

Me
: I thought this was for ages thirty to forty-five.

Him
: Aw hell, I knew I signed up for the wrong night…

DING DING DING

Guy #7

I don’t even remember that one. Besides, by then I was on my third Rosebud and they put in more bud than rose.

Guy #8

was Jay, smiling ear to ear, like a big kid. Just like Minerva, in fact, earlier in the car.

Me
: How goes it?

Jay
: This is so much fun. We should do this every week.

Me
: You’re serious?

Jay
: Our girl is really chattin’ ’em up. Told every single one of them that she’s married and is conducting a social experiment.

Me
: Aw crap, that was my line. The social experiment, I mean.

Jay
: You two have got to stop spending so much time together.

He looked past me at the next table and watched his wife. God, he was so smitten with her. Lucky bird, that Minerva.

Guy #9: Tom Cruise lookalike, minus couch-jumping.
And sorry, I know that horse has been beaten to death, but I can’t think of any other good Tom Cruise jokes at the moment.

Him
: Nice to meet you.

Me
: You too.

Him
: I’m Tom. (I shit you not!)

Me
: Eva.

Him
: Having a good time so far?

Me
: It’s OK. And you?

Him
: The girl that came before you told me she’s married and is doing a social experiment.

(I was in mid-swallow when he said this and nearly choked.)

Still him
: Hey, you OK there?

Me
: I guess you get all kinds here.

Him
: Well, you know, what’s the point of the experiment if you’re gonna tell everyone what you’re doing?

Me
: Well, you know, there’s academic integrity, and ethics.

(shut up, shut up.
shut
.
up
.)

Him
: Let me guess: you’re a professor over at NCLA?

Me
: Used to be. Now I own my own business. Ever been to The Grounds?

Him
: I knew you looked familiar! That’s a great place! You recommended a bookstore when I was looking for an out-of-print anthology in 19th century British lit.

Me
: Really? When?

Him
: You were only open for a few months. I haven’t been there in a long time, but maybe I’ll stop by.

(What’s this? Am I
liking
this guy?)

Me
: Thanks.

Tom worked in the health care field and owned a house. Intelligent. Digs British lit, even if it is 19th century. Definite possibilities.

Me
: How old are you, Tom?

Him
: Just turned thirty-five last week.

(
Definite possibilities
.)

We made small talk. We made jokes that we laughed at. It was the only time I didn’t check my watch, that the bell rang when I was in mid-sentence and didn’t want to walk away.

Guy #10…Wait, there was a rosebud #4, but was there a guy #10?

At the end of the round, Jay, Minerva, Norman, and I all filled out our cards. Basically, you check a Yes or a No next to the number of the guy that you would be interested in going out on a real date with. You hang out, get a little more drunk, and then someone comes to you and tells you which guys matched with you. You only find out if both matched together.