Getting into a relationship is always a road that has been paved by many dates. The dates serve as declarative statements that tell one another what the other is like even though people don’t want to divulge everything. Eventually all quirks flesh out and everyone knows about everything. After this happens the love interests can look past all the faults or figure out a way to deal with them without filling up their bank statements with the phrase “the local bar.”
While a relationship is definitely something we all hope for in our lives it’s good to figure out a few things in one’s life. It’s good to wonder what could have been, or what would be. It’s healthy for the soul to think about the alternative.
I’m not thinking either, however, as I perch at the front desk of the facility I inhabit. It’s hard to think any cohesive thought past the chortles I’m exuding as I’m listening to my favorite receptionist, the Feminist Receptionist, as she gallantly tells my next potential how to get to the facility on a Thursday night. Wondering, I’m sure, how big of a shovel hit me.
“You make a left.” She patiently tells Einstein’s double. “Towards the lake.”
“I don’t know where I am!” the panicked voice bellows. The fright emphasizes with every frantic syllable. He’s lost and since I’m new to the windy City, I issued the number to the facility so he could successfully get here.
I didn’t expect this magnificent navigation device to be so terrible at directions, especially since he’s lived in Chicago his whole life and I have not.
Our first exchanges via instant messages, text messages, and emails, were so short they would rival a thumbnail but the phone conversation gave me a bit of hope. His long-winded descriptions about what kind of man he wanted lead me to believe that he wanted someone more “his level.” He doesn’t say a lot of things that stick as he’s talking to me however. There are no thoughts that make me think. The only thing that invades my ears is observations about different gay guys and soliciting their bad qualities as if they are a job applicant.
Despite the boring phone conversation and the worse email exchange, I assume that this potential is done playing games, and I want to give him a chance. I invite him to my apartment because I want to pick his brain in my domain, and it would be nice to cuddle for a while as we debate and talk.
As I’m listening to the worried voice on the phone however, I begin to wonder how far the drop on his head was. He didn’t charge his phone and now his voice is seeping through the receiver, squeaking a little as he tells all of the people who have gathered nearby that “my phones dying! I didn’t charge it!”
“Okay…” the Feminist Receptionist says, thinking empowering thoughts, “are you heading east, to the lake? Or west?”
“Huh? I don’t know we be havin’ a lake! I’m lost! I dunno know where I am!”
“I know. That’s why I’m staying on the phone with you so that I make sure you get here okay,” the empowering employee tells him, exuding a level of professionalism and kindness I’d never be able to muster in this situation.
“My phone’s dying! I am not chargin’ it!” the lost six-foot wonder bellows as if he’s announcing a headline for the New York Times.
After 20 more minutes he arrives, says hey and thank you to my favorite receptionist and then we trudge up to my apartment. I’m walking behind him trying not to cackle at his navigation attempts. I’m sure he’s a really wonderful guy with a lot of substance to offer.
It turns out that he puts an even darker spin on my day after we get into my apartment. Conversation consists of free flowing thoughts and opinions on many subjects by me, with questions tossed in to give him a chance to express himself. His mood isn’t all that stellar because he’s been complaining about his exes for the last half hour. He gives a raincloud competition.
“You like the Butterfly Effect. Why do you like it? Is it the story?” I ask, desperately moving the subject away from a black guy he’s complaining about.
“yeah.” he replies, definitely telling me why he likes the movie The Butterfly Effect.
“What was your favorite part, since it’s your favorite movie?” I Say, feeling like I’m talking to my showerhead. he suddenly grabs me and pulls me onto his lap, his jutting stomach very obvious in such close proximity.
“I don’t know,” he mumbles… “You wonna cuddle?” sighing, I let him cuddle with me.
That’s all we do for another 10 minutes, however, and I really want to send him away as soon as possible. I’m really confused because he isn’t stroking me, he isn’t even talking. He isn’t doing anything other than breathing and slightly snoring, with one arm around me increasing the awkward feeling I am beginning to have. I should have spent tonight alone. I soon tell him he should leave very soon because I am busy tomorrow, and he starts to get up. After he stands he turns and holds me. At least his hugs are wonderful. He smiles at me making me feel good inside.
“You’re a really sweet guy Robert.”
“Can I ask you something? It’s very important, but I feel really, really good about us and where we’re headed.” I blink, wondering if this raincloud possesses ANY deduction skills. I nod, despite myself and he grins as if he’s found gold behind my eyes. He suddenly kneels down on one knee and clasps my hand.
“You’re so sweet… I want to have you be my boyfriend; I want to have you marry me!”
I shake my head, giving him a sad smile as I lead him out of my apartment, vowing never to see him again. “I’m very sorry, but I have a pathological fear of weddings, they give me nightmares.”