|Maybe I’ll find the next “him” here.--credit|
I was taking a sketch writing class at The Upright Citizens Brigade’s Training Center in the Herald Square area. If I may speak on behalf of all single ladies in this city, anytime I sign up for a class, or join a new gym, or go catch E.T. in Bryant Park, I feel like a small part of me is thinking, “Maybe I’ll find him here.” I don’t necessarily mean that I hope to find the love of my life, but perhaps I’ll find the next gentleman caller that fits in nicely with my life right now. Don’t most unattached women feel the same?
So, I thought I had done it. I thought I had found a potential him. I was early for my class and he was alone in the room – editing. We exchanged awkward hellos, and established that I was a writer looking to build my portfolio, and he was an editing intern there. It was apparent that he was attracted to me since he immediately offered to help edit and film my comedy sketches. I thought to myself, “Wait. This guy has never read or seen anything I’ve ever done. He must only want to sleep with me.”
|I had no intention of getting anything from the vending machine aside from his attention.
He sent me a text, “letz meet up for a beer.”
I wasn’t a fan of the use of a “Z” where an “S” should be. Sure, it’s a playful tactic, and, I’ll admit I’ve stooped as low as to use a few “lolz” in my day, but always ironically. With the hope that he was intentionally being ironic and not blatantly immature, I agreed to meet him at this Lower East Side bar he had been dying to try called the Double Down Saloon. Everyone who’s ever been here knows that the Double Down is a dive bar. For any NYC dive bar, you can expect a grungy, worn and tattered interior complete with graffiti galore and bathrooms that don’t lock – you’re lucky if they even close properly. But, the drinks are cheap! Therefore, New York City dive bars stand strong.
|At a dive bar, you’re lucky if you can find a bathroom stall that actually closes. One that locks? Forget about it.–-credit|
This particular dive bar is known for its images of 1980s porn, terrifying skeletons and monsters that adorn the walls – plus their signature cocktail: “A** Juice.”
I asked the bartender, “What’s A** Juice?”
She replied, “What do ya think?”
I ordered a Yuengling.
I wasn’t even half way through my beer when he decided that asking if I’ve ever been with another woman would be a good conversation starter. It wasn’t. He also thought it would be a good idea to show me the doodles he’d drawn during his unpaid internship. It wasn’t.
He was boring. I could tell he also found me boring. He made no attempt at hiding his disinterest when I explained my life-altering experience seeing Beyoncé live in Atlantic City. (I once had a guy tell me that my smile was contagious whenever I talked about Beyoncé.) That was a nice guy. This guy wasn’t. I felt judged when he made snide comments like, “She’s okay I guess.”
|Beyonce is much more than “okay.”–credit|
I made one final attempt: I showed him a picture of my cat. Everybody loves pictures of cats, don’t they? Not this guy. Then I realized, “I miss my cat. I’d rather be home right now with my cat.”
With that, I left the bar and made my way back to Astoria alone.