I went on a date with a third Whippersnapper. It wasn’t a raging success.
I have an obscure song lyric on my dating profile and he sent me the next line of the song, which always makes a boy seem like a kindred spirit.
(The song is ‘Graffiti’ by Maximo Park).
We exchanged a few messages about music and then moved on to our jobs and London.
He does data analysis (everyone seems to do data analysis these days, and it always amuses me, for obvious reasons!). He also told me he’s in a band that are recording an album.
He is another 25-year-old.
I was curious about the amount messages I get from 25-year-olds. My lower age limit on OkCupid is 25, so it makes sense that no one younger messages me, (apart from the odd little fella trying their luck, like this 19-year-old)
You’d think the older they are, the more likely they’d be to contact me, but I seem to get more messages from 25-year-olds than 28- or 29-year-olds. Including about that song lyric.
I once heard that in advertising, if you want to sell a product, you should work out what your target audience were listening to when they were 16, and use that. Maybe my profile is striking a chord with the 25-year-olds because that song came out when they were 16?
I tried to do the maths. I was in my 2nd year at uni when that song came out, so when was that? How old would they have been?
Oh god. Not 16. I’m so old!
I threw my calculator aside. 25-year-olds were 14 when that song came out!
From his messages, WS3 seemed like he had a lot in common with me. He sent quite long, articulate, well thought-out messages, which I liked. However, it did seem like there was a risk of him being pretty pretentious.
For example, I said I like running, and he said “I also run a lot. It’s like a noble form of self-torture, but the good lord gave me a distance runner’s frame, so it would be remiss of me not to use it and it helps hold my latent existential dread at bay.”
At least he doesn’t talk like a robot, I suppose.
We talked about writing and he said “I used to write a lot of fiction, before modern British education repressed that part of my creative spirit.”
He could be hilarious, or he could be a dick. Hard to tell.
We arranged to meet on a Friday night. He suggested meeting in Camden, which I initially agreed to because I thought it was roughly halfway for both of us. I know I live far out so I didn’t mind if it was a bit further for me. But then I looked at a tube map and realised he only lived one stop from Camden.
Then on the day, we were texting about where to meet, in the afternoon. He asked if I wanted to eat. I said yes.
I was in a meeting and texting surreptitiously from inside my handbag.
He said “OK we’ll eat at this pub in Kentish Town that I like. I’ve booked a table.”
Gosh, that wasn’t very collaborative.
Maybe he thought he needed to be masterful to make up for his youth.
I arrived at the pub and initially I couldn’t find him. Then I did.
My first impression:
God, he looks really young.
Also, he was wearing a baseball cap.
Why do they keep wearing baseball caps!
First the Bearded South African Man, now him.
Why is everyone suddenly acting like they think they’re a can of San Pellegrino, unable to leave the factory un-hatted?
We sat down.
We looked at menus and talked about our days.
Within about 10 minutes, I thought No.
Firstly, he told me he’d already 3 pints this evening.
I know I can’t really say much about people drinking excessively on dates, but at least I try to wait until I’m actually on the date before getting shitfaced.
He kept laughing really loudly at his own jokes. He would say something, half-joking, and I would seem concerned, then he would laugh to show he was joking, but very, very hard.
For example, he said “basically, if I’m still doing this job in 2 years’ time, I’ll be a massive failure.”
“Gosh.” I said, earnestly.
HAHAHAHAHA. He laughed.
There’s something about incongruous laughter that’s always a bit unnerving.
He kept telling me very personal things, like about his difficult relationship with his mother, or the fact he takes a lot of prescription drugs which he buys from ‘the dark net’.
Then he would say “why am I telling you this! It’s because you’re such a good listener, with your brown eyes.”
“Green.” I’d correct him.
Some of our conversation was a bit more normal. We talked about things like music and television. I didn’t dislike him, I just found him quite stressful to be around and definitely didn’t want to have sex or be his girlfriend.
I felt sorry for him a couple of times, because we’d come across something we had in common (e.g. I said a quote from Ernest Hemingway about writing which he turned out to really like) and he would seem really excited, but I knew we wouldn’t be seeing each other again so it was irrelevant.
We left the pub where we ate, and he suggested having another drink somewhere else. It was still fairly early and I couldn’t see any reason why not. Like I said, in a lot of ways, I didn’t dislike him.
The next pub we went to was very cool. We went upstairs and found somewhere to sit. There was a grand piano and lots of chandeliers. Somehow, the pub was decorated in a way that was both expensive but also alternative.
Lots of bars these days seem to have cocktail menus that are incomprehensible and intimidating, and this was one of those. I ordered a cocktail with Earl Grey involved, which came in a teacup. He paid, bless him.
His prescription drug use came back up, and I went into to work mode. He’d been talking about using diazepam (“to feel normal. HAHAHA.”) regularly. Not many people realise that alcohol and benzodiazepines are the only two drugs where withdrawal can actually be dangerous, if you’re physically addicted. So I told him that and told him to be careful.
We went back to talking about TV.
Suddenly, he put his arm around me and stroked my hair. I reacted much in the same way that I would react if a bee landed on me; I kept very still and waited for it to go away.
Shortly after that, we went our separate ways.