From time to time people ask me on dates. They see me on the internet and who knows? Maybe they think I’m the answer to their life problems, or loneliness. In any case – I prove them wrong:
Him: Oh my God. How did you know I was here at Starbucks? Grindr said you were 71 feet away.
Me: I didn’t know. I just come here to stalk a guy, and get coffee on my work break. It’s pure coincidence that we were just chatting on Grindr.
Him: Well, sit down. It must be fate. (pause) Wait, you stalk a guy here at the Starbucks?
Me: I come here because I know he comes here and I like to look at him.
Him: So yes, you’re a stalker.
Me: Yeah, I probably am.
Him: So you’re working in the neighborhood?
Me: Yeah. On Monday and Tuesday I work in Hell’s Kitchen.
Him: So do you work every day?
Me: No, I… er… Well, kind of…
Him: What does that mean?
Me: I do a lot of things for money. Comedy, music… I teach… I make pies…
Him: Pies? Really?
Him: What’s pie?
Me: It’s pastry. It has a crust and you put fruit or chocolate or sometimes savory stuff like pork or chicken.
Him: Don’t be smart, I know what pie is.
Me: Oh. Sorry. My fault. I probably thought you didn’t know what pie was, because you asked me what pie was.
Him: Are you always this difficult?
Me: Almost without fail.
Him: I love your pic on Grindr.
Me: Thanks. I sent you the body picture too, that you requested.
Him: Mmmmm. I saw it. You’re how old? 27?
Me: No. I’m a little older than that.
Him: It’s your glasses. Your glasses make you look young.
(Pause. I take my glasses off)
Me: What about now? Do I look significantly older?
Him: Yes. You look much older now.
Me: You’re just saying that to flatter me. Charm boat…
Him: So you just want a kiss? Nothing else?
Me: That’s right. It’s something I invented – it’s called a ‘kiss date.’ I meet people online, chat with them for a few minutes and then kiss them to see if there’s chemistry. Also, I write about it online. Be careful, I might blog about this.
Him: Are you going to blog about this?
Me: I might. It really depends on how we behave with each other. Do you think this is a bed bug bite? I’m paranoid about bed bugs… It’s probably just that I burned myself on the oven rack, and don’t remember it. I do that sometimes.
Him: Why were you touching an oven rack?
Me: I… make… pies… A pie is a type of pastry.
Me: You have a slight accent. Are you from the Philippines?
Him: How did you guess?
Me: The accent… Also you look like someone who has a Karaoke machine and likes illegal handguns.
Him: That’s a stereotype.
Me: I know. I’m joking. You look more like someone who would vote for an unqualified candidate from a political dynasty family that is corrupt. I’m kidding. You don’t look like any of that. I’m just being salty. I read a lot about the Philippines in the Times. They love to cover you guys.
Him: I’m not a nurse either, if that’s what you’re thinking.
Me: I wasn’t, but don’t worry, there’s still time… The hospitals aren’t going anywhere.
Him: You’re funny, but is that appropriate?
Me: Depends. Are you going to pay me? Or shoot me with an illegal handgun for singing My Way at karaoke?
Him: Pay you for the jokes? No.
Me: Then I should stop giving it away for free. This is probably not a bed bug bite – right? It’s just a burn from the oven, I think…
Him: My family doesn’t have a karaoke machine you know. They just have a microphone.
Me: Just a microphone? Where does the music come from?
Him: It’s programmed into the microphone. You plug it in and the music comes out of the microphone. It’s like an iPod plus a microphone all in one.
Me: That sounds suspiciously like a machine to me.
Him: It’s not.
Me: I stand corrected. It’s probably more like a magic wand, and less like a machine.
(Long pause. He eyes me suspiciously for a good while.)
Me: Well, I should get back to work.
Him: Yes. Be sure to favorite me on Grindr. I’m going to Amsterdam this weekend but I’ll be back soon.
Me: Okay! Sounds good! I’d kiss you, but I’ve been drinking coffee.
Him: See you soon.
(Surprise ending: I didn’t favorite him on Grindr)
Please enjoy this picture of my butt crack, Jerks.