Currently Chasing: Penny Rolls

I was reminded today that match.com is the devil. Not like I didn’t already know this, but still. It helps to be reminded that ‘it isn’t you.’

The very last match.com date I went on was with Earl Bamberger. I remember asking what his middle name was, hoping I could call him by that instead of Earl, and he told me it was Bunston. Earl Bunston Bamberger. Wow. He had five kids and he couldn’t stop holding my hand across the table during dinner. After dinner we sat at the bar for a bit. He received a phone call. It was a goodnight call from his children. Have you seen the Geico commercial about the Walton’s saying goodnight? Goodnight John Boy, goodnight Mary Ellen, goodnight grandpa, goodnight Ben, goodnight Olivia, goodnight everybody. Yeah, it was something like that.

So even after that experience, my friend offers up one that’s worse.

She tells me this story about how she met a guy on match.com. He was a lawyer. Bonus! They talked on line a bit and he seemed good to go. They agreed to meet up in D.C. at a place close to the metro. He didn’t have a vehicle (as most people in D.C. don’t…like New York, traffic is a nightmare, and why deal with it if you can metro everywhere you’d like to go.) So that alone didn’t send off any warning flares. He told her he’d be coming straight from work, so when he showed up with his briefcase, that didn’t raise any flags either.

The place they end up going for dinner is a pretty high class joint and she is enjoying the conversation for the most part. He’s a little dry, but also good looking, and that trumps dry any day.

At the end of dinner the check arrives. All of a sudden this guy reaches for his brief case. He opens it up like he’s fucking John Travolta at the end of Pulp Fiction. Like the secret to life is in there. But instead it contains loose change. Lots of it. It’s not rolled, and it’s not even all silver. He begins to pick through it. How did she not hear that shit? A dollar in change is a fucking symphony in your pocket. And it has to be heavy. My daughter has a piggy bank containing 10.75 in quarters and I can barely lift that shit off the dresser. This guy must have had Popeye forearms. So she politely asks if he needs money and he says no, he’s got it. She is completely embarrassed. She excuses herself, hands the waitress money for her meal and leaves.

She didn’t even look back. You can’t look back. Would you look back at room full of poop? No. You know it stinks, so you just go. And there’s really no need for the look back. Because everyone else is already looking.