Internet Dating

Due to my overwhelming desire to suspend the targeting of coworkers, I pulled out my list of non-thirtieth floor dwellers in desperate need of comeuppance.

And I'm having enough fun reading emails between Mr. Patel and Security Chief Jensen concerning the steps Mrs. Patel can take to keep their pets safe from psychopathic stalkers. Mr. Jensen advised her to never walk the dogs at the same hour each day. If a night stroll is required, he suggests she travel in well lit areas. "Do not physically resist a person or persons attempting to nap your pooches." He literally wrote, "nap your pooches." Regardless their vocation, ass-kissers talk like children.

But I digress.

A few months ago I briefly gave internet dating a whirl. I went on one outing with a gentleman who must have kidnapped--speaking of--the person who drafted the one personality profile I found somewhat scintillating.

The investment banker and I had much to discuss via email. Carrying on an actual conversation, however, proved burdensome.

His profile was a giant fib. For example, he claimed to have spent a semester studying in Italy. When asked to share snippets I couldn't glean from watching travel shows, he responded as if he'd memorized the country's Wikipedia page. "I lived in the capital, Rome, with a population of almost three-million. Rome is located in the central-western portion of the Italian Peninsula, within the Lazio region of Italy. For centuries, Rome was the political center of Western civilization . . ."

I asked if he could cite his sources. He didn't get it.

When he mentioned we should, "do this again," I asked for his best guess on when the weather would change.

As I have no interest in settling scores with men who lie for the express purpose of finding either true love or a lady willing to join them for a quick roll in the hay, and would have time for nothing else, the name of my date was not added to my list of targets.

Our server, a black-haired whore, was.

I proposed me and my date meet at a local coffee shop. My companion insisted our first encounter take place inside an upscale sushi palace; one of two reasons he wasn't entirely worthless. His other saving grace was his inability to mask his disgust for our waitress. Whenever graced by her presence, I could tell by the deranged look in his eye that, had he not been on a first date he foolishly assumed would lead to a second, he would have committed a chopstick related felony that left the ghostly diva physically incapable of serving another famished fish-lover.

An ability to let go is one of many traits I didn't share with the gentleman. I'm certain he was able to put the experience behind him because, as I was getting acquainted with the daily routine of our waitress, he and I never crossed paths.