The sheer amount of laziness that humans are capable of manages to amaze and astound me constantly.
Case in point: My first date borne out of the mobile app Tinder.
A special education teacher reached out to me after we both gave each other the virtual thumbs up. Our chatter on the app was limited. Instead, he suggested we meet up for coffee.
I’m OK with cutting to the chase and not belaboring a real-life meeting. The thinking is that if we don’t click, I’d rather know before we’ve exchanged a string of emails a mile long or talked on text over the span or hours, days or even weeks. Those exchanges add up, and you want something to show for it.
The catch was that he wanted me to trek to Silver Spring, where he lives, for said in-person date. Why not meet halfway or come to my ‘hood? I’m still not sure.
I pushed back, suggested alternatives and then, ultimately, I obliged to try to be nice and accommodating—and because Silver Spring isn’t so far. Really, I shouldn’t have though. My justification was that the prolonged Metro ride out to the Maryland suburbs would provide study time. To be fair, it did. Instead of going over what to say, I covered two chapters of text.
Then, I arrived at the pre-arranged coffee location, which couldn’t have been closer to the actual train station if it tried.
The teacher was sitting at a table outside, primed for my arrival and well into a cup of tea. It turns out the tea was a needed remedy after an all-out outing in Atlantic City. (Did I mention he’d pushed back the coffee date start time twice to give his hangover more time to pass?)
Red flag. Red flag.
“So you went to Atlantic City for one night and then just got back?” I asked.
My date’s response was to spin a tale involving a new principal trying to get her teachers to like her by renting a bus and turning it into a party-mobile. In other words, this was a debaucherous work trip. Wonderful.
I needed coffee just hearing about it. So I went inside to procure a cup. Paying for it myself since he didn’t seem to be interested in that. No biggie.
Then the conversation took a weird turn. From standard fare about countries visited, hobbies enjoyed and where we each grew up to the location of my date’s apartment. It was nearby. Very nearby. He wanted me to know, that’s for sure. And nearby, as in, he’d rolled out of bed, walked 20 feet and there was the Starbuck’s entrance.
Then, he offered to show me it. “I don’t know what you’re doing for the rest of the day but we could watch some Netflix,” he offered, while I was not quite halfway through my latte.
The hour was before 5 p.m., the sun was shining brightly, and I guess he took me for a sucker. “Lines like this still perpetuate?” I said to myself.
He hadn’t even pretended that he’d treat me to a meal, a beverage or get to know me at all. And he’d blatantly told me that the distance he was willing to go was as far as he’d go to grab his mail. Setting up his Tinder profile probably took more effort than he was putting into wooing me.
My date made his intentions clear. Soon, I was on my way, feeling stupid for expecting better.
Afterall, I had heard Tinder referred to as the “Grindr for straight people,” solely a vehicle for arranging hookups. Yet, this teacher was officially schooling me on that rumored intention.