Not My Date Not My Vision
When I moved to New York, I was on a mission to find my people. I needed a sober and gay community and I needed it yesterday. My method was simple and slightly chaotic. I scrolled Instagram for rainbow flags and clues that someone was sober and then I politely inserted myself into their life. Shockingly, it worked and I made real friends this way. Every meetup was meant to be friendly and wholesome. Until one was not.
There was one guy who felt a little different from the start. Our chat had a small flirt that gave the whole thing a soft glow. I convinced myself this coffee in Chelsea at two on a Tuesday might be a low stakes date. I walked into the cafe right on time and spotted him in the corner. He looked a little different than his photo but so do I when I am not using good lighting. Stranger yet, he was already almost finished with his drink. I thought we were getting coffee together but apparently he was on his own journey.
I walked up and said hello and he responded like I had interrupted a meditation session. I asked if he wanted a fresh coffee and he stared at me with the most confused expression and said no I am good in a tone that hinted he was absolutely not good. I brushed it off, grabbed my cold brew with an extra shot and no ice, and skipped back to the table ready to bond like sober people do. I started sharing real things. He responded with his street address and his weekend plans. That was it.
It got stranger when he told me he had lived in New York for six months. The man I was supposed to meet had lived here for twelve years. My stomach flipped like a cheap folding chair. I excused myself and practically sprinted to the bathroom. I checked my phone and saw a message from the real guy that said I am in the back room let me know when you get here. I was absolutely not in the back room. I was very much in the front room. With a stranger. A stranger I had just shared intimate details with for no reason. A stranger who absolutely thought I was unhinged.
I returned to the table, muttered something about forgetting an errand, and escaped out the front door in record time. Then I casually walked right back inside and went to the back room to meet the actual person I was supposed to meet. He was lovely, by the way, and the entire reason I endured the most accidental blind date of my life.
The moral is clear. Wear your glasses to dates or you might trauma bond with a complete stranger before the coffee even starts.
