Maybe You Are

by  Erin Kuhlmann




You are not the kind of person who would do this.

Your friends have said, “It’s great. You should try it.” Or “You’re always so busy. This is a great way to meet someone.”

You tell them online dating just isn’t for you. You’re fine meeting girls at the bar, promising to call, but never do. You’re a hit-it-and-quit-it type of guy.  But here you are, typing away at your computer screen.

 And forget paying for this. You are not going to fork over sixty dollars a month to find the worldwide web’s idea of your “soul mate.” It’s as foolish as people who buy stars. Last time you checked stars were free, too.

The site page opens to welcome you with a virtual shower of red and white hearts, collecting at the bottom of the page like a pile of snow. Mid-screen sits a beaker, half-filled with pink liquid that bubbles and fumes: All it Takes is a Little Bit of Chemistry!

 You move the curser to close down the tab, but pause. You may not be the type of person who meets strangers online, but you’re tired of being alone. Tired of always being the friend going stag to weddings. Tired of sitting at the coffee shop or restaurant alone. Tired of always making excuses.

You click the beaker to enter the site. All it takes is four easy steps. The curser floats over the “create a profile” button.

Now or never, you think.

Step 1: Select profile picture. You don’t have many recent photos. You select one from the previous summer, taken at your best friend’s wedding. Your hair was longer, but you figure the women looking at your profile won’t care. They’ll be much more interested in who you are now, rather than what you looked like six months ago.

Step 2: Personal information. The questions feel like you’re filling out a resume, or a patient history.

“Male or Female?” Male.

“Are you currently employed?” Yes.

“Highest level of degree?” Bachelors.

“Do you smoke?” Constantly.

“What is your diet like?” Pizza and beer.

“What is your body type?” Athletic.

“What are you looking for?”

This question makes you pause. “I am looking for . . .” then you hit delete.  You leave the box blank and decide to return to that question later. Something to think about.

         
 Step 3: Who are you? Question after question is fired at you. Sometimes you answer with one word, a sentence, maybe a paragraph. Most of the questions are no-brainers. Favorite color, cats or dogs, genre of movies you enjoy watching. Others ask about your stance on religion, politics, and sex.

 The questions seem to go on forever, like an overflowing toilet.

Finally, you go back to the blank box. This is the question you get up from the desk for. The type of question that requires a pot of coffee. The type of question you’ve thought about in the bathroom while you washed your hands. That you’ve asked the mirror covered in splattered toothpaste. That you’ve asked your reflection, over and over again, for years.

Back at the desk, second cup of coffee in hand, you try to think of a witty response. The first sounds creepy, and the next like a punch line to a terrible joke. You delete them both. You consult the Internet for an alternative. Hundreds of articles on creating the perfect profile to attract the right potential dates pop up. You read a few and immediately close them.

You are still not the person who online dates.

No, don’t give up. Attempt a different approach. No funky list of qualities will ever land your potential soul mate. One of the articles you skimmed said that’s a fast way to get zero messages and zero dates. Instead you choose a more generic answer. One that won’t set you apart from the thousands of other people on this site, but for now it will suffice.

You type, “Looking for a woman between 25-30 who enjoys conversations over coffee or dinner.”

 You imagine a girl, no woman, with dimples and long hair. She sits across from you in a crowded Starbucks, drinking the most expensive coffee on the menu. She’s sweet, a college graduate, from the south, and likes football as much as you. You take her out on a second then third date. By next Christmas she’s meeting your mom and talking about the future. You like the sound of “forever”. Like wearing a worn tee shirt and sleeping in on Saturdays.

It wouldn’t be so bad, you think, to find all that on the Internet.

You shake your head and light a cigarette. The sweet, dimpled, southern girl in the café isn’t some figment of your imagination. She’s the girl who sits in the cubical across from yours at work. She’s the girl you’ve flirted with in the break room and know her coffee order by heart. The girl who flashed you her new engagement ring three weeks ago. And while you don’t want to admit it, seeing her admire that diamond has finally driven you to this site. It’s never going to happen, and you need to move on.

 Step 4: Confirm your profile. This is it. One click and your profile will be seen by hundreds of strangers looking for love on the Internet. You click confirm.

You sit back in your chair and swallow the rest of your coffee. You are the person who online dates. You weren’t expecting a cannon to fire confetti or a marching band to parade around the room, but at the very least you expected there to be some kind of prize for finally signing up for online dating. You debate calling your buddies to tell them the news, but note the clock on the computer reads 2:45 AM.

 You refresh the page, as directed, but nothing pops up. Defeated, you head for the bathroom to brush your teeth. When you spit into the sink, that’s when you hear the ding.

You race back to the computer. On the left hand side of the screen is a small pink number on the messages tab. You sit down and lick the toothpaste residue off your teeth. You cannot click the message fast enough. The screen takes a few seconds to load and you sit at the edge of your seat.

The message turns out only to be from the site creator. You don’t even bother reading the congratulatory. You shut down your computer, and sigh.

Tomorrow you’ll have to face her at work, knowing she’s in love, and it’s not with you.

Tomorrow you’ll have to try and find someone else when you know you’ll always wonder what life would be like with her.

You light another cigarette.

You are not the kind of person who should be online dating.