My friends tell me that although they only wish me well and to be happy in my life, they hope in some ways that I never find Mr. Right. After all, that would mean this chapter of my blog would end. Since that does not seem to be eminent in the near future, they have nothing to worry about. Let the dating disasters continue.
I was sick for a week or two. What can you do stuck in an apartment with a crazy dog and a diabolical cat? Not a whole lot. I watched 4 seasons of House of Cards. Then back to looking at the online profiles. I had a ton of messages. Wading through them is an ordeal. You have to look at what they write, then go to their profile.
The traditional first contact from most men is to tell you how beautiful you are. I hate that. I know, it might sound weird, but I hate it. 8 out of 10 messages are either; "Hola" and nothing else, or "Sos hermosa" (you are beautiful) What this means is that almost no one reads my profile, they just look at the pictures.
One man in particular stood out. He actually looked like Robin Williams. Robin Williams in his late 40s, early 50s. He had several pictures. He gave his profession as "aviation." Now this could be anything from baggage handler to counter clerk to pilot. Usually the pilots take pictures of themselves dressed as pilots. Those guys are another class. The Argentine Robin Williams doesn't smoke and he says he likes to go to the movies. Both good things.
I answer the Argentine Robin Williams whose name is actually Eduardo. He seems funny. I say "seems" because writing online is a whole different ballgame than actually meeting someone. He asks if I have Whats App. Not having Whats App is like not having Facebook. Everyone has Whats App. I tell Eduardo Robin Williams that I have Whats App, but I do not what a cyber relationship. I am not interested in dating via a phone app.
Eduardo Robin Williams Mork from Buenos Aires calls me. He is like Robin Williams. He has bad English that he so proud of, that it makes him sound like he is from another planet. I ask him if we can please speak in Spanish. "Oh," you want to practice," he says. Easier to say yes than to tell him that listening to his English is like being at work. After a short conversation we make a time to meet. He tells me that he has a meeting on Friday in Palermo, and he could come afterwards.
Friday. I wait on the corner in front of the Havanna Cafe. I wonder if it is worth getting dolled up for. Yet, you never know. I am approached by Eduardo Robin Williams Mork from Buenos Aires, who is not the Robin Williams of his pictures. That Robin Williams was in his earlier years, this is a craggy version of Robin Williams. Still nice looking, but older than the photos. The first words out of his mouth are "You look just like your pictures." Imagine that. Instead I just smile.
He decides that we should go to a Cafe Martinez that is a couple of blocks away. I hate their coffee, but it doesn't matter. It is close and it has chairs. As we walk, I try to make small talk. It is a little awkward to try to talk with someone who is more interested in looking at themselves in the store windows. "So," I ask him, "how did your meeting go?" He tells me it was fine. For whatever reason, he tells me that he left his car near where he had his meeting, and he took the subte. I suppose this is to let me know that he has a car. The car makes the man here.
We enter Cafe Martinez, and I ask him where does he want to sit. I know that this must seem weird, but women do that here. In the 10,000 coffee dates I have had here, even when the man asks me where I want to sit, he always says no, and selects a different place, so rather than go through that dance, I just ask. He selects a table near the window and then selects the seat he wants. Mork from Buenos Aires. I have to bite my lip so I don't laugh.
We face each other. "So," he says, "How do I know you?" I am a little surprised. Before I can say anything a barrage of words come out of his mouth, "Tinder, Match, Badoo?" This is not exactly how one expects a first meeting to go. "I'm on all of them." he confides. "Zonacitas." I tell him. "Oh," he says. "Yes, that one." I wonder if he numbers his dates.
The guy said he works in aviation, and I am curious to find out as what. "Do you work for the airlines?" I ask him. "No, I take decisions." For whatever reason he has decided to switch to English. I hate this. "You make decisions?" I ask him. "No," he says, "I take decisions."I explain to him that in English, you do not "take" decisions, you "make" them. He insists, "No, I take decisions." I just love when Argentines argue English grammar with me. "In Spanish," I explain to him "tomas una decision. You cannot make a direct translation. We make decisions, not take them, in English"
I realize that he is not looking at me. I turn around slightly. Now I understand why he wanted to sit here. He is looking at himself in the mirror that runs along the wall. He goes back to the decision issue. "Are you sure?" I want to slap him. "Besides," I tell him, someone who makes decisions is called a decision maker, and that is not a profession. It is part of their job." "Maybe." is how he acknowledges my correction. I am trying to finish my coffee fast. I would much rather go to the gym.
He then asks me, "What is it you do again?" I smile at him. "I teach English and do translations." I want to add that I also torture myself with Internet Idiots like you, but I don't. I am trying to be polite. I feel like I am in a bad Robin William's movie, only I don't think that there was ever a bad Robin Williams movie. At this point I don't even care what this guy does. He probably decides what luggage to put on the carousel. Or maybe a gate agent. Who cares...
He leans over "What has been your experience on the site?" I shrug my shoulders. How do you answer this? "OK", I tell him. "Some are nice guys, but not for me, some don't look like their picture, some there is no connection." "Me too." he says. "What are you looking for?" I ask. "I don't know, someone out of this world." "I imagine so." I tell him. Eduardo Robin Williams Mork from Buenos Aires.