Online dating. Pfffft!

OK, so I tried online dating a couple of years ago with mixed results. Mixed, as in nuts.

Because I’m single and childless society dictates that at least the single part of my equation be rectified.

Oh, did I mention I had just turned 40? Single, childless and over 40. Society doesn’t like that.

So I went online and peddled myself to a world of strangers. Initially it looked good. I got a bite straight away, and before I knew it I was going on a date with some guy named Peter on September 1. Nicely timed on the first day of Spring.

He looked friendly enough in his photo, actually it was a great photo. Correspondence to arrange the date was short and to the point on his side, whereas I was trying to beef up the communication with questions and failed attempts at one-liners. Not much of a response from Peter. And yes, this would turn out to be a sign.

We agreed to meet at a place in Southbank on a Wednesday night at 8pm for ‘a drink.’

My dear friend Lisa was informed of all the details: who he was, where we were meeting and when. “Call me as soon as it’s over,” she enthused. Ok.

The meeting point was outside the bar. I arrived first. Waiting nervously and looking at everyone coming and going. Regretting having gotten myself in this situation. Bloody hell, it’s 8 o’clock now. I’ve been stood up!

I heard a voice call my name and I turned to see the real live Peter. You could smell the mutual indifference in the air.

But hey, you have to give these things a go. This is, after all, such an awkward and artificial situation.

We went in and sat at the bar. I ordered a mineral water, I think. Can’t remember what he ordered.

Conversation was stifled. Hard to raise a laugh. “How did you get here?” “Car,” I embellished. “How about you?” “Tram.”

Tram.

Anyways, half way through some interminably inane conversation about how I got to work in the morning he announced that he needed to go home because he had work to do and he needed to get up early in the morning. By the time he had finished the sentence he was flying off his stool and heading out the door with barely a goodbye. It was 8:20.

I rang Lisa. “Hello000???????” was the inquisitive response. “It’s over,” I deadpanned. “What?” Incredulous. “It’s over.”

Hilarity ensued. Loud hilarity.

Perched in front of the blender where the barman was mixing drinks, he overheard my phone rant and asked what had happened. I described the magical encounter with the fleeing tram passenger.

Obviously a decent guy, barman was astounded by Pete’s behaviour. Even if you don’t hit it off, you at least have the manners to stick around and talk to another human being. It had taken me longer to get there and park my car than the ‘date’ had actually lasted. If I left now I’d be home by nine o’clock.

So Barman gives me a free shot. And then the remnants of the cocktails he’s concocting. Now I’m relaxing and back on the phone with another friend regaling the whole story again.

Barman is back blending another drink. We talk about the online scene. In his job he’s seen it all. Must be fascinating. I mention how I made sure the meeting was in a public place, because you never know who you’ll meet on the internet. Maybe a serial killer, hell I could be a serial killer!!!

I could tell by the way his face dropped that I had lost him. You know when you say that retrospectively dumb thing that you think is perfectly fine at the time, but as soon as it comes out of your mouth you know it’s wrong? Deflated. Barman needs to serve another customer and work at the other end of the bar now.

So there I was. Staring into the Yarra River. On a Spring night. Sucking down the remnants of someone else’s Piña Colada. Possibly a serial killer. Aiming to get home within the hour.  

Oddly enough, this wasn’t the last of my adventures in cyberspace dating. Things were about to get weird…