A Tale of Dating in SF

I walk in, text my friend. I text her fiancee.

Where are they??

My inquisitive expression earns a few raised eyebrows from people in the crowded bar as I walk to the back, then come back to the front.

From pictures, I know that the guy they are setting me up with is tall. Very tall. So I scan the room for height. Nothing.

Ah, they must be sitting. I shuffle my way over to the bar, under funky-colored lights, excusing myself as my bag bumps into someone, who I didn’t even notice because apparently I am quite tall as well.

(Sometimes I think that idea about the steroids in chicken is really having an impact on my height. I know my dad is tall. I know I don’t eat enough steroid-jacked chicken for it to make a difference, but why the hell couldn’t I have been a little shorter? Just a little.)

I walk up to the group. My friend, her fiancee, and they guy they are hoping will be a good fit are waiting. Clearly for more than a few minutes because they’ve ordered food.

Friggin Lyft took forever, and I let them know. I mean I could have left earlier instead of stressing about the shoes I was going to wear, but that’s apparently beside the point in my mind.

I introduce myself, with a handshake.

Shit, should I have hugged him? Shit.

We chat for a few minutes, and struggle to keep things going through a few awkward pauses. Occasionally I make eye contact him across our mini-circle by the bar.

Meh, he’s ok. He’s got those tiny veins under his eyes that remind me of vampires, but maybe that’s a good thing? Solid jaw line. Decent smile. Good hair.

But I can sense already that we just won’t click.

Am I prematurely ruling him out? Am I being dismissive way too early here? I push the thought aside, smile, and laugh at one of his jokes.

…It was a lame joke.

We start the golf game. Yep, my friend thought an activity would be good.

I’m terrible at golf, but I’m doing quite well.

The course is interesting, and the owners have put a lot of time and effort into the experience. I daze off, noticing the details, and forget I am on a trial date for a solid few minutes. I shake myself back into the conversation to realize the guy taking countless pictures of the place.

ugh.

My friend checks in with me, dipping her head and whispering not so quietly, “SOOOO, what do you think????”

“He’s nice.”

For the rest of the time, we play golf, and focus on my friend and her fiancee. It wasn’t a very interactive date, in the sense that I don’t feel like I got a sense of what this guy is all about.

I know he’s into swimming. I know that.

All I know for certain is when he walked away and I was left with my friend and her fiancee, I felt a sense of relief that the whole thing was over and we could run down the street to grab a burrito and beer.

I’m thinking that’s not a good sign.