IRL
I’ve been sitting at
this café for over an hour, and he still hasn’t shown up. Why hasn’t he
shown up? I told him to meet me here at exactly four o’clock. It’s past
five now, and he still isn’t here. I gave him my cell phone number. He
could call. I really am sick and tired of this always happening. I get
to talking to a guy for a little while. Finally when it’s all going
great, we decide to meet, and then, they never show. Am I cursed? Did
some voice from the heavens cry out “Ryan shall only have great
conversations on-line! He shall be plagued to wander forever in the
electronic world, and forget all that he knows is real!” It’s like I’m
living in the fucking Matrix!
“Are you sure I can’t
get you anything?” I’ve had to send this waiter away seven times all
ready. I’m going to have to order something if I ever plan on coming
back to whatever this place is called again.
“No thanks, not yet.
I’m really sorry, the person I’m meeting here is just late…well I think
he’s late.” Why am I explaining myself to him?
“Oh really? What time was he supposed to be here?”
“We said we’d meet around four.” Just tattoo a big L on my forehead for loser.
“Four? Wow I’d say he’s
pretty late.” Thanks for rubbing it in asshole. Oh great! And now he’s
sitting in Jason’s chair! Jason’s gonna think that because he was late
I started macking on the waiter because I’m so desperate.
“Yeah,
I don’t know what could have happened.” Could this day possible get
worse? I mean for starters today I weighed myself and found out I’ve
gained 2 pounds since Tuesday. Tuesday! That was 4 days ago, how did I
gain 2 pounds in four days? That’s where the nightmare begins. Then my
mother called me, and told me she found this great guy she could fix me
up with. I’m still getting those weird ass phone calls in the middle of
the night with Nick heavily breathing into the receiver and then
hanging up, four times a week. Nick was all my mother’s idea. She
thought it’d be great if we dated. She forgot to mention that the
reason she knew him was that they went to the same therapist. Then my
professor gives me a C on my paper. I’d
love to see her write a paper on comparing Fidelio, La Boheme, and
RENT, discussing the social implications of the bourgeoisie of past
cultures and how that applies to our capitalistic middle class society.
The last thing I need is some cute waiter who’s two years
younger than me and has a face like one of those models on the Calvin
Klein commercials who always say something stupid like “I don’t want to
be attractive…I just am.” To make matters worse, he still has a body
like the boys who lived next door to me when I was younger; the one any
girl would have given her best friend’s left knee cap just to get into
bed.
“So, who is he?” I hate it when beautiful people want to try to get to know you. You can’t say no.
“He’s just a guy I’ve been talking to on-line.” I feel the L on my forehead burning again.
“On-line? That’s kind of sketchy,” and now he’s pulling the chair closer in. Looks like he’s gonna be here awhile.
“Well maybe, but more people are doing it today, and it’s not like we’re meeting in an alley way.
There are lots of people here, so if he’s an axe murderer I can just
leave once I’ve had my coffee.” It’s not sketchy at all; it’s one of
the better ways to get to know someone. I mean its 2003: The age of technology is upon us. I
know at least 5 other couples who are all very happy, and they met
their partners on-line. I mean, where else can you get to know someone
for who they are without all the awkwardness that comes from meeting
someone you’ve never met before in real life. I definitely wouldn’t
have the balls to talk to this pretty waiter at a bar. I’d assume he’s
too far out of my league. However, if I met him on-line, I’d probably
find out he’s got a bunch of the same problems I do. People probably
think he’s too pretty to approach with anything more than offers of
sexual fulfillment, so all he gets are offers for one-night-stands from
old men with money or over confident twinks.
“I
guess your right. So what’s he look like?” Even on-line this question
comes up way too often. I used to not have a picture on my profile, but
I got so tired of people asking me what I looked like I gave up and put
it up there. One of my friends got sick and tired of me complaining
that I wasn’t beautiful, took some photos of me, and doctored them with
some software. Now I have a picture that makes me look like I spend my
life walking down runways and flying to exotic locations for photo
shoots. I mean I’m far from ugly, but it’s not like I’m some young
sculpted Adonis. I’m 25 with a body like a 12 year old. My face is
still young and full, and but
my body never got that extra muscle mass that guys are supposed to get
during puberty. All I got was a lower voice and chest hair that which I despise.
“Well,
I don’t exactly know. He’s supposed to be around 5’11 and 140 pounds
with bleach blonde hair and a tan.” In San Francisco that describes
about one third of the men in the city.
“Well that should be easy to find.” Now he’s laughing. The L on my forehead is really starting to sizzle.
“Yeah
I’ve found him about 17 times in the past hour. The problem is that
none of them turned out to be him.” Did that even make sense to anyone
but me?
“Well, how are you supposed to meet if you’ve never seen him?” Could he possibly be more nosey?
“He
said he’d be wearing a white shirt and black pants and that he’d
probably recognize me from my picture.” I am a loser. A L-O-S-E-R loser.
“Maybe
he’s in traffic or something. There was a 5 car pile-up 6 blocks down
on Powell street.” Well that’s comforting. Maybe he got into a wreck,
and the one guy who I might actually have liked and had a chance with
is laying on the operating table right now preparing to meet his maker.
“It’s
possible, but I hope he didn’t get hurt. He’s the first guy I’ve had a
chance to actually talk with in a long time.” Don’t go into the light
Jason. Come back! Get one of those doctors to zap you with that heart
thingy. Don’t leave me now!
“What
do you mean? You don’t talk to people a lot or something?” Would you
please just leave me alone? I hate it when cute waiters try to get to
know you better to get a bigger tip. I used up over 1\2 my extra money allowance tipping this one cute guy that worked at the coffee shop in high school, and nothing ever came of it.
“I
talk to people, but there is a difference between talking and having a
conversation. Two people can talk to each other for years and never
actually say anything.” I’ve seen it happen. Those pointless
conversations you have with people on the street that you saw at a
party, and you don’t want to ignore them because that would be rude,
but you’re not really interested in anything they say.
“I
see…well what did you and this guy talk about?” Now what I really want
to do is tell him that we discussed something ridiculous like
Malinowski’s anthropological theory on the functionalist approach which
he discussed in his book Argonauts of the Western Pacific
and how the book still applies to today in social theory, even though
it was written in 1922 just so that he’ll look at me blankly and leave
me alone.
“We
talked about a lot of things. We both like the same artists, have
similar taste in music, and have a lot in common. Like his mom is crazy
and thinks basically he shouldn’t date anyone, and my mom thinks I
should date these random guys she meets, only because she knows their
gay and single. She forgets to mention that they’ve got as many mental
problems as she does.” Now I’m talking about my mother. Should I be on
a couch? Should I be paying this guy?
“That’s
funny. I wish my mom tried to set me up occasionally, but no one is
ever good enough for her ‘one and only’ if you know what I mean.” Wow! Information about him! Maybe we At last a change in topic! Can stop talking about me now?
“Oh, so you’re an only child? So is Jason. I’m the middle child.” I’m the Jan Brady of the family.
“Oh really? What was that like?” and we’re back to talking about me.
“What do you mean?” I don’t want to talk about me. I’m the guy who’s not even worth showing up on time for.
“I mean what was it like when you grew up?” WARNING! WARNING! FLOOD GATE OPENING!!!
“Well,
it was rather horrible. I have one older brother and one younger
sister. My older brother was idolized by my parents. My mother and
father were both teachers, and my brother knew he wanted to be a
teacher since he was like 12. Every Saturday instead of getting to
watch cartoons my brother would walk up and down the hall ringing this
really loud bell yelling “It’s time for school” as loud as he possibly
could, and then he’d drag my sister and I into the garage where he had
set up two small desks and one big desk. He’d use my mom’s old
worksheets and make us do homework on Saturday morning, while all my
friends were watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and having fun. I’d
be sitting there, diligently doing my forced homework, and then my big
brother would look up from his desk with the most wicked smile on his
face. “Ryan stop talking!” he’d yell at me, and I’d look around with
the most confused look on my face. “There isn’t anyone to talk to!” I’d
yell back, and then he’d hit me with a yard stick “I told you no
talking, and you are talking back to the teacher. You’re going to have
to stay an extra hour.” And I’d end up doing homework for 4 hours every
Saturday.
“Are you serious! That’s terrible!” You haven’t heard the end of it.
“Oh
believe me, it gets better. When we’d all play together we’d combine
all our old toys and make a city. My older brother got the cool things
like a tree house, a hospital, and the school of course. My little
sister got the nice house, a restaurant, and a nice little 4 person
family with a Mom, Dad, brother, and sister. What did I get? I got the
damn orphanage, and since my brother took all the other cool people,
they gave me this weevil that my mom ran over with the lawn mower. It
had a big gash in it, and it didn’t even wobble. They named it Ryan. My
sister would bring her family to the orphanage to adopt little Ryan,
but when they saw that he was broken, they wouldn’t adopt him.”
“Oh my God!” Yeah, you’re talking to someone who’s been broken ever since.
“What about you? What is growing up alone like?” It can’t be as bad as being the middle child.
“Well…
It’s really boring. My parents have a really crappy marriage. They
never talk. I ended up being the one that did all the talking or gave
them something to talk about. It’s like when you’re a little kid, and
you lie just to see if you can get away with it. I’d do things just to
give my parents something to talk about. Since I came out to them
though, they’ve had plenty to talk about. My dad was so sad. He’d
always wanted a son, because he was the last one to carry on the family
name. Now I’m the last one, and it’s going to die with me. That is
unless I end up having kids, which I’m not seeing as very likely.” Wow,
that’s not what I expected. This
kid doesn’t look like he’s had a hard life at all. He looks more like
he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and hasn’t let go of it
yet.
“Well, you could adopt.” Now I feel bad about complaining.
“Yeah,
I thought about that, but there are so many legal problems with gays
being allowed to adopt kids nowadays. Even though there are countless
studies that say having gay parents does not make someone gay, it’s
still a problem. Besides, my dad was more interested in seeing his
genes passed on to another generation than anything else.“ Since
he found out I am gay, he’s not been as proud of his genes. He’s just
kind of given up on a lot of things. My Mom is really tired of how
melancholy he gets. He barely moves anymore, and it’s not like I can go
get him. They live in Washington State, just outside of Seattle, and it’s just been a big mess.” I don’t know what to say now.
“Um…well…I
see. I’m really sorry. I always assumed only children had it made.
After all they get all the attention in the world. My parents barely
remember to ask me to family holidays.” Jason never really talked about
his family life. I wonder if being an only child is this hard for most
kids.
“Well,
it’s not all bad. I mean, I am really loved, though my parents don’t
really like what I do. They still love me and tell me that. I think
that kids will have it rough,
no matter how many other siblings they have. That’s why I’m not too
interested in raising any.” I don’t like kids cause their messy and
noisy. Not because I think that childhood is pain. Who’d have thought there could be pain under such a beautiful face?
“Well,
I’m about to get off my shift. Would you mind getting a cup of coffee
that way I can at least look like I did some work here?” I’d buy more
than a cup of coffee if I thought that’d fix it. This kid made me
completely forget that Jason stood me up. I really owe him one.
“Yeah, umm give me whatever you drink.” I bet he’s got good taste in coffee too.
“All
right. I’ll be back in a minute.” Man what an idiot I am. Poor kid, he
talks to everyone just like his parents, he kept me talking forever. If
Jason had shown up, I would never have guessed that he even knew what
pain was. Amazing how easily the people we place on pedestals can come
down the second they show they are human, and yet showing your human,
without really making a big deal out of it makes me want to put him
right back up on the pedestal.
“Here you go. I’m getting off work now. Would you want to grab a bite to eat later? I’m starving.” Like I’m gonna say no!
“Sure,
I’d like that a lot actually. Where and when?” Please don’t stand me
up, please don’t stand me up, please don’t stand me up.
“How
about the Globe? It’s got great food if you don’t mind spending a
little extra cash. Let’s say around nine-ish?” I’m a poor college
student, but what’s one little splurge going to do? Not like I’m
spending all my money on the java boy from high school anymore.
“I’ll be there at exactly nine o’clock.” Let’s pray you are there too.
“I’ll
be there, and don’t worry. I won’t stand you up this time.” With a wink
of his eye, and a small angelic smile I melt. I’m gonna see him again
at nine o’clock.
That’s like two dates in one day; I guess this day is shaping up to be
better than I thought it would. I’m going out on a date with a
beautiful boy who works at a nice place and has exquisite taste in
coffee. I barely can taste the dark mocha its bitterness is covered up
by the sweet sticky caramel. It was reasonably priced too from what I
see on the receipt. Hey, he wrote something on it. I love it when
waiters do that.
Hey,
Sorry, I had to work.
See you 9:00 sharp at the Globe
I promise.
Yours,
Jason | 
