I should keep my ears closed. I should have brought a book. But they were so loud. I sat; I listened; I blogged.
Last night was weekday date night for my partner and me. I was early because I closed a deal and, flush with the knowledge of getting paid for a deal, I left the office early and waited at a quasi-trendy place for my beloved to join me.
So, I sat at the bar and this is what happened in real time (think of me as a stenographer):
Two people next to me are having a first date. The guy is trying to establish his bona fides as a New Yorker — born in Manhattan, first few years in Brooklyn (when it was uncool to live there) and then to NJ. As a Manhattan native, I believe that he still needs a visa to come to the island, let’s be honest.
They are now talking about their siblings’ good marriages and failed marriages. She responds to something he said (which eagle ears here can’t quite understand above the din) with, “ohmigod, I can’t believe, like, you know, that happened to my family”. Then Sweet Valley High came up in the conversation, as a benchmark for human behavior. Ok, so art is life’s instruction. I am scared.
Apparently, it is cool to be not into any scene — a guy who is a homebody who owns his apartment gets the girl. Also, the West Side shows you’re deeper and more family-oriented than the East Side, if you believe this guy. Also Murray Hill neighb apparently has settle-down creds, so you can get the girl that night at least.
The guy let slip that he spent more than he wanted (i.e., he had even more money in the bank) on his two bedroom apartment. She is impressed because she can’t afford her an apartment since she doesn’t believe in one bedrooms. How nice for her. A new religion in the making.
He told her she reminded him of someone famous. I couldn’t hear who because of the untimely request by a fellow patron for a bill. Darn. She was not upset because they are still talking and she is trying to make him laugh.
He skis. She doesn’t ski well. Skiing is an “issue for me” she says. He is an athlete but skiing is not his bag. He finishes every sentences on a high note, as if asking a question.
He is driving me to drink. She is driving me to the psychopharmacologist.
