Tag Archives: BS

Your Father Isn’t… Eric

17 Feb

The takeaway: I’m a stellar BSer.

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Eric has a great photo (from a wedding, always the best), so I’m girlishly-giggly when I see a message from him on OkCupid. We make internet small talk but manage to avoid the default questions (what do you do, where are you from, how long have you been here, where do you live now), which works out well since my answers to those questions are not inspiring (just got laid off, New Jersey, 8 years and Virginia… Kristen Wiig in Bridesmaids would be a step up).

He messages me a few times from a guys ski trip in Colorado… clearly he’s in love. He’s also a firefighter so I hope he’ll make up for my missed opportunity with James last year. When he suggests we meet for a Saturday night date at one of my favorite and super-convenient-to-me restaurants, I’m positive this is going to be the best date ever.

I brave the February wind and arrive to the restaurant with a lovely wind-burned flush. I feel like a million bucks and then I see my date. He’s more attractive than his picture and I flick my eyes to the ceiling as I mutter a quiet “Thank you.” It’s been so long since I’ve been on a great date; I deserve this.

We do the awkward handshake/hug dance then head to the bar. I’m pre-glowing from my impending successful date that I’ve imagined as we struggle through the usual awkward pauses and conversational lags. Gradually, I start to worry.

I ask how he became a firefighter. He tells me the actual steps required to become one, including the classes, tests, and physical requirements. If you’d like more information, I’d be happy to guide you through the whole process; I’m an expert now.

He realizes that I didn’t mean my question quite so literally and launches into an indirect history of his experience with firefighting that eventually ends with, “But really, my neighbor is a fireman and suggested I try it, so I did.”

Every subject goes more or less this way: a long roundabout answer to my question that leaves me with no viable options for follow up. Insert long awkward pause here.

Something about him is throwing me off my typically-professional-grade conversational game. Not his dashing good looks… he has a small metal hoop earring pressed back horizontally against his ear lobe. I keep waiting for him to flick it back into its God-given vertical orientation but he never does. I still can’t figure out if it was on purpose.

By the end of the night I ferret out two of his passions: music and cars. I miraculously manage to coherently debate the evolution of talent coming through the 9:30 Club versus the Black Cat (two small but popular concert venues) and to (apparently) intelligently debate the virtues of German engineering (thanks Nick!). I failed to mention that I’ve only been to the 9:30 Club for a Katy Perry concert and NEVER been to the Black Cat. And I don’t even have a car.

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Kids, as much as I would love for you to be tall, athletic, blond-haired, blue-eyed beauties (or at least halfway there anyway), Eric is not your father. But if I’m now a lawyer, the decision may have stemmed from this very date.