During one of the last weekends of the semester, I called up a friend and asked if he wanted to grab a beer. He replied that he had already planned on going to a bar later for pool and drinks, and I was welcome to join him. I don’t play pool well (true story: a guy once tried to let me win, but ultimately gave up after 40 minutes of me not getting a single ball in a hole).
Two hours of “Oh em gee I'm so excited I have plaaaaaaaaaaans!!” later, I arrived at the bar and grabbed a drink while he and a friend of his tried to lay claims on the pool table. Almost instantly, I ran out of things to talk about, and began to peoplewatch. A team of two guys playing beer pong caught my attention.
“DO YOU THINK THEY’RE GAY?” I tried to whisper-yell to my friend over the bar noise, nodding to the two guys. They were obviously close, and both were attractive. If they were together, they were adorable.
Minutes passed, and my friend had now begun to play pool, but my eyes stayed on the cute male couple, trying to decipher their body language. I like to think I’m quite good at reading situations, but those skills vanish when the person’s had a few. I kept watching them, and decided they probably weren’t gay—they hadn’t shown any affection other than typical “bro” fist bumps, and they were playing against two very pretty girls.
When I had finished my drink and my friend began another game of pool, I strutted past the beer pong guys, who had just finished their game. One of them leaned over and asked if I wanted to play them next. I’m terrible at bar games, so I said no, and we began to talk about bar games we were good at. A few minutes later it was me and the beer pong guy talking at a table, while his friend sat with us too drunk to make conversation. We must have been sitting there for a while, because my friend came over no less than twice to subtly try and see if I needed to be rescued. I declined both times—these guys were super attractive. And nice. And the one was wearing this captivating shirt with pineapples on it.
Through my conversations with the lesser drunk Beer Pong Guy, I found out that he was not gay, and worked as a DJ at the same bar where my parents met. “NO WAY!” I yelled. “MY PARENTS MET THERE. MY DAD WAS THE DJ. NO. WAY.” (I get a little repetitive when I drink.)
Considering my parents met in the bar where he works, I was pretty much the 2015 version of My Mom, and my #1 goal instantly became to learn everything about this guy, who was basically the 21st century version of my dad. I mean, can you imagine if we dated? We would be a damn near carbon copy of my parents 25 years ago. I tried to focus my energy on listening rather than on his pineapple shirt's hypnotic powers.
A little while later, he decided he needed to take his beer pong partner home, and we exchanged numbers. We started texting nearly immediately, and kept on through the night. When I left town for a music festival the next morning, the hourlong drive felt much longer without the constant back and forth of Office references and random banter. It made my day every time I checked my phone to see one (or often two!) unread messages from him. Since I was constantly running from venue to venue or enjoying a concert, it was almost effortless to play that I-have-to-wait-a-certain-amount-of-time-to-text-back-or-I'll-seem-desperate-and-he'll-lose-interest-but-not-TOO-long-or-he'll-think-I'm-not-interested-at-all game we all play when texting someone new.
“Can we be Facebook friends?” he texted the last night of the festival. I knew this conversation was coming—I’ve been facebook free for 3-ish years but forget that literallyeveryotherpersonontheplanet is still on Facebook. I told him I wasn’t on Facebook, and explained why.
He replied saying, “Really? I can’t imagine not being on Facebook.” and I could feel something shift. After I replied saying "Yeah, I miss it sometimes but not enough to go back," he didn't immediately reply like usual. I wondered if something was up.
And something was up, because that was the last text I got from him. After three unreplied-to texts and three viewed-but-unreturned Snapchats, I stopped trying. This guy may be the 2015 version of my dad, but it looks like the 2015 version of my mom needs to be on Facebook.
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