I thought a coffee shop would be a great place for a date. Apparently she doesn’t drink coffee though. She orders mint tea or something. It’s okay. I’ll pay for it.
We’re waiting on the drinks. Let’s find a table. By the window sounds great. Sauntering across the crowded room like douches.
She turns back, laughing, absently touches my arm while she relates a story. Something boring about one of her friends I haven’t met. She keeps telling me I’d absolutely love him because he’s so funny. I have lingering doubts about that.
Sitting at the table. It’s quiet. She’s not talking anymore. This means it’s on me to start a new conversation, before she starts texting again. I have a theory. I don’t think she actually texts anyone. Just pretends to, whenever she wants to look busy or disinterested.
Shared interests? Not really. She’s an education major or something. Well … she likes movies. I like movies too. What a coincidence. We talk about movies while we wait on the coffee, which takes too long. Movies are a fun topic. I make movies. I know a lot about them.
She doesn’t. As it turns out, she likes really shitty movies. Actually, I’m pretty sure she just likes the celebrities that act in the movies. Time to change the topic again, before she starts talking about her favorite TV show. I already know it’s probably Glee.
Does she read books? Yes. Really? Absolutely. She reads the Bible, and Twilight.
"Oh. That’s nice."
(What the fuck is this girl doing in college?)
But of course I don’t say that.
She starts texting.
Dammit.
Oh, nice. Here’s the coffee.
"Here’s the coffee."
She puts her tacky pink sliding phone away and tastes her drink. Makes a face because it’s too hot. I need to steer the conversation in a more serious direction before my brain turns into cotton candy.
"So how’s life?"
Probably the wrong question. She starts complaining about her semester. I pretend to care. The coffee is good, but still overpriced.
I have a love/hate relationship with these preppy little coffee shops. They’re pretentious, and pander to a predictable and annoying demographic among college students. I wonder how many people in here are wearing TOMS. I can spot like four different pairs from where I’m sitting.
She’s leaning closer now, and playing with her hair while she talks. I ignore the body language and just listen and nod, drinking my coffee. I’m starting to get depressed. I think this girl might actually be retarded.
She thinks I’m funny. Punches my shoulder. I didn’t even realize I made a joke. I’m on auto-pilot now.
"Uh huh."
"Yeah."
"Totally."
"Are you serious?"
She’s starting to catch on though. Realizing I don’t really care.
Leaning back. Shortening her sentences. Glancing sideways at the other patrons.
I feel kind of bad, but not really. She’s still talking about that friend I haven’t met. Turns out he’s actually an ex-boyfriend.
Why exactly does she think I should meet him? That’s such a fucking horrible idea. I guess she just needs an excuse to talk about him.
Maybe I should pay closer attention. She already knows I’m bored though.
Oops. Up comes the phone again. Clickety click.
Brief mental shouting match:
Why the hell did I ask this girl out?
She’s really hot.
Okay …
I can brag to my friends.
Okay …
If I make a good impression, she’ll talk to all of her friends too. Which is basically free publicity in the dating arena.
Okay … Any other reasons?
Aren’t those good enough reasons?
Dude, she has the mental capacity of a 13 year old. I don’t want that on my conscience.
So, what, you’re telling me you prefer smart, ugly girls?
Well … Only in theory.
My point exactly. So why are you complaining?
She’s an awful person.
Dude, this is college.
She literally stands for everything pointless and tasteless and shallow that I hate in this world.
But you know you want to. Deep down.
No. You don’t understand. She’s evil. I’m sitting across the table from pure evil. This woman is the antithesis of everything good, clever and wholesome. A vile entity summoned from the blackest pits of hell to wreak … mediocrity and ineptitude.
Quit being melodramatic. She’s a product of society.
Fuck you. She’s the devil.
Fuck you. You’re going to act like a dweeb and she’s going to leave and tell all of her attractive friends that you’re gay.
I don’t care. Make her go away. She likes Glee.
She never said that.
I know it in my heart.
You’re an ass.
Duly noted.
She pauses mid-text and looks up at me, making some kind of critical evaluation, then continues texting.
Somebody’s getting a detailed report.
Slurp coffee. Cough.
"So who are you texting?"
"Nobody. Just a friend of mine."
(Um. No shit. )
Except I accidentally say it out loud this time.
"Um. No shit. "
She looks at me quizzically.
"What?"
"Never mind."
"Are you mad about something?"
(You’re the Devil)
"No"
"… ‘cause you’re kind of quiet."
"Just thinking about some stuff."
"Like what?"
Somehow I accidentally got her interested in the conversation again.
"Um. Just homework and a bunch of crap that I have to do."
Her eyes glaze over a little.
"Oh."
This girl is just as bored and as I am.
So far I haven’t been making any serious effort to remedy the situation.
It’s like we live on two different planets, except getting in E.T.’s pants might be less morally distressing to me.
I’m pretty sure this would only ever work if we were both drunk. I would be a little stupider, and she would hopefully be unable to text or speak coherently - which might help.
Unfortunately, we’re not.
Later, outside of her dorm, I tell her goodnight. She lies and says she’ll call me later.
It’s okay.
I survived with my ego mostly intact.
She’s probably a smart girl. Just like I’m probably a cool guy. In either case, nobody will ever know.
