Tuesday, May 17, 2016

swipes without soirées

I’ve been in Colorado for five and a half weeks and in that time I’ve swiped left on Tinder approximately 846 times.
I find the vast majority of people unimpressive and this is likely not news to your eyes.

But I got Tinder because I moved to Colorado on a whim and I didn’t have anyone to climb with and I was bored and everyone else in the house has it, too. And you can’t have a Sunday Tinder Party with your three incredible roommates where you sip wine and swipe away inbetween the
“OHHHHHH, my what?!”
“Nice group picture.”
“Who? What? Who are you?”
“Sweet pics, I can’t see your face in any of them.”
“Literally fuck off.”
“Ew, NO.”
“Why is this so fun?”
without Tinder.

I’ve met a few people on Tinder and only one that I actually became friends with and enjoy climbing with (shoutout to Matt).
Notably so, I have approximately 30+ conversations open on Tinder which I just stopped responding to because a) it’s boring 2) it’s repetitive and also I actually do have a real life.

On Monday morning I went to my new favorite coffee shop in Denver to work, because in true freelance style I was two days over my deadline and approximately only halfway through my project and cringing every time I got an email, hoping it wasn’t a pissed off client.
St. Marks is my favorite coffee shop because of the lights and it seems to be filled with everyone on their computers and shutting the fuck up and the croissants are bomb and the refills are free and there’s beer for when you are strung-out on caffeine and want to get a little drunk so the words can come a little easier.
So I claimed my small space with a person on either side of me within 18 inches.
And I arranged my coffee and my water and my phone and put my headphones in.

And as I was reacquainting myself with the [based on a true story] screenplay I was in the middle of editing, a man pulled out the chair on the other side of my very small table and tried to sit down, and seemed startled that my bag was there. I lifted my eyes with what I’m sure was a look of annoyance and pulled my headphones out, and maybe thought this was an employee telling me that I couldn’t sit there or use the wifi for free, but didn’t he see the coffee I had in front of me? And I’d buy a croissant in a little while and probably also a muffin or a cookie because I have a severe lack of self-control and do zero things in moderation.
But before I could even get my left earbud out there was,

“Hi, are you my Tinder match? Kelsey from Arizona?”
Oh. My. Ffffffffffffucking God.

I didn’t even respond verbally to these questions. But anyone who has spent significant time with me can surely envision my eyeballs burning a hole into his head while he stared at me with this dumb look of hope and eagerness.

I’m not from Arizona.
I must’ve said “I’m from Michigan, but I moved here from Flagstaff,” forty seven times in the past five weeks.

“My name’s Dan..”
This is my nightmare.
“…I sent you the picture from Flagstaff.”
The picture from Flagstaff?
Right, right. I matched with someone who sent me a link to an Instagram post they had a year ago and said “If you’re really from Flagstaff, can you name this bar?”
I am not from Flagstaff.

It was a picture of a drink on the bar that’s facing out towards Mountain Sports, on the corner of San Francisco and Aspen. I’ll remember that view the rest of my life, and I knew the drink. It was a Gin Jam. I’ve had a few blackouts at Rendezvous.
And his response was “No, it’s the hotel Monte Vista.”
And my response was “No, it’s actually the Rendezvous, which is the bar in the Hotel Monte Vista. Nice try, though.”
And that was the end of the conversation.
Now here Dan was, in public, mentioning that we had matched on Tinder, and looking at me like I was supposed to be impressed or happy to see him or even wanting to engage in conversation, and seemingly waiting for me to move my bag so he could possibly sit at my very small table that I had, in true Kelsey fashion, sprawled all over. I did eventually speak.

“Right. Hi.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Working.”
“Yeah, me too. I’m just two tables down. I actually have a Skype phone call in a few minutes. Do you come here often?”
“No.”
“Do you live in the neighborhood?”
“No.”
“Where do you live?”
“Westminster.” Get the fuck away from me.
                        Sometimes I say things in my head so clearly that I have to retract and wonder if I said them aloud.

He then let me know he was very unimpressed with the fact that I lived in Westminster and I let him know that I did not care.
Dan eventually left me alone and I immediately texted Giselle something along the lines of  “OH MY FUCKING GOD I JUST HAD A TINDER NIGHTMARE.”
I looked to the person to my right and to the person to my left and both had seemed to not notice the annoying and socially unacceptable encounter I had just had. Who was Dan? I wonder what he had done to make me not talk to him anymore. I quickly opened Tinder and searched the conversations. Oh, right. He was boring. After a quick scroll up I found the true culprit bubble of the conversation and let out a (likely obnoxious) laugh.
Dan, 28.
Founder/Editor at The Pro Audio Files
Matched on April 15th.
One month ago. 
Me: What do you edit?
Dan: I don’t understand the question, but yeah I usually edit the articles/videos for my biz. So wait, just to be clear, you’re both on Tinder and super literate? Very rare combo. Impressive.

A straight forward question. To which you fucking answered.
Biz. Biz! Not okay.
Ew. Gross. No. I can’t. I just had to put my phone away.

So I worked for five hours and walked out in a fit of laughter from an unrelated topic, and when I got home, told Lauren the story in extensive detail, only to be interrupted by a Tinder message from Dan.
“How’d the rest of your day go? Still in Denver? Shortest first tinder date by far, but certainly not the worst.”
I’m sorry, what? Go away. That was not a date. Leave me alone forever.
The conversation was a mix of the above statements and ‘No’ gifs.


In true late-20's-white-girl-fashion I stood up, tossed my phone down and stuttered "I just I seriously I literally just can't fucking even. Goddamn."

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