I am not the type of guy who easily gets the girl. Never have been, never will be. I’m alright with it. Sometimes I talk too much. Sometimes my voice cracks and sounds nervous, which of course, makes me more nervous. Sometimes I just get in my own head. Sometimes I worry that I’m too ugly, or too fat, or don’t dress nice enough. Sometimes I worry my life will always be this way.
But that sad sack song changed its tune about two weeks ago. After three months of membership on a popular dating app, I finally got my first match.
Thank the fuckin’ Lord.
Her name was Claudia. Her profile said she went to community college in a small town near mine. Her bio said she lived with her folks. She had brown hair, and brown eyes, and three pictures; one with her dog, one at a basketball game, and one by the beach. Each photo seemed more beautiful than the last. At the bottom of her profile, she had a quote, a corny line from an old Coldplay song.
‘Do you believe in magic?’
She messaged me first. She asked how I was doing. That never happened before. I nearly broke my cell’s screen by replying so fast.
‘
“Hi! Doing great, thanks, how are you!”
Too eager. Too many exclamation points.
“I’m doing good, just getting ready for the weekend.”
She answered me! Half the battle, right?
“Oh, any plans?”
A ten minute delay.
“Are you offering?”
I paced around the dark hallway of my parents basement before thumbing my reply.
“Have you heard of Mulligan’s?”
‘
And just like that, I had a date for Friday night. I don’t know if excitement is the best descriptor. Neurotic would be far more accurate. I didn’t text her again, for fear of fucking up my chances, and I couldn’t sleep through the preceding night. I took off work and went to the mall to buy new clothes that day. I texted pictures to my sister to make sure the outfit looked okay. I sweated through the hours and checked my watch every few minutes until finally, mercifully, six o’clock rolled around.
I arrived to Mulligans an hour early. It was mostly empty. A few of the regularls toiled around the jukebox. An older couple watched the baseball game on TV and chatted with Betty the bartender. I ordered a beer and sat with my back to the wall, with an eye towards the door, waiting for the girl of my dreams to walk in the room and change my life.
Seven o’clock came and went.
The seats quickly started to fill with college kids on Spring break. A rowdy crowd of girls with matching bachelorette shirts paced up and down the cramped aisles taking pictures. I checked my watch incessantly. I sent a couple texts. Not enough to sound desperate, but enough to be concerned. Nobody replied. I downed my third Coors, grabbed my jacket, and made up my mind to leave at seven thirty.
The crowd by the door led to a line that stretched all the way down the street. People were fighting to get in. A girl with brown hair and brown eyes stood in front of a hefty bouncer named Jake. She was shouting something at him, but Jake wouldn’t have it. He pointed to the street and told her to get out.
“Matt, oh my God, there you are!” the girl shouted at me as I walked by. “One second, they won’t let me in.”
Relief replaced depression rather quickly. Claudia draped her arm around the bouncer’s shoulders and whispered something in his ear. The man instantly dropped his hand, smiled, and stepped out of her way.
