Soup du Jour: Campbell's With A Side of Charisma

The date I went on last weekend was so torturous I am convinced getting waterboarded would have been more enjoyable. After weeks of text message overload, I finally gave in and agreed to meet this guy for drinks last Saturday night. After all, it couldn’t be that bad, right? Wrong. So very, very, unbelievably, hilariously wrong.

It was worse than bad. It was an unmitigated disaster, comparable to one of those unexpected California earthquakes of unprecedented magnitude. It was painful. Like I-want-to-rip-my-eyes-out-before-I-even-get-my-drink painful. So we’re sitting there, engaging in what he thought was a riveting conversation -- you know, about life’s most philosophical questions, like what his roommate ate for breakfast that morning (an egg white omelet with mushrooms), his favorite fruit (pears -- but only if they're ripe) and his e-mail font of choice (who would’ve ever imagined that we both use Calibri?!). And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. He leaned forward –- with a look so intense I thought he was about to tell me he had some rare form of terminal cancer -– and asked, “So, what did you have for lunch today?” I just sort of sat there, wondering what bomb fell on my life to have led me to this moment with Mr. Personality. When I informed him that I’d had a bowl of soup, he jumped out of his seat with a level of unbridled enthusiasm I thought impossible for someone so vapid. “You’re kidding. I had soup yesterday!” he told me. There are those times in life when you’re forced to feign excitement -– like when your grandmother gives you a dress circa 1672 to wear to your high school prom, or when your 8 AM staff meeting includes a discussion of asset fungibility and equilibrium capital structures in Zimbabwe. And then there are other times -– times like these -– when someone could be holding a gun to your head and you’d still find it humanly impossible to fake even the slightest level of interest. So I just smiled and forced out a sarcastic “Wow!” before immediately reaching for the drink menu. “That’s just crazy,” he said. When I asked him what was so “crazy,” he responded: “It’s just crazy. You know, how much we both like soup. Do you like Progresso or Campbell’s?” At that very moment, I would’ve rather been transported to Abu Ghraib than to have continued on with this date. But I had no choice. After all, we were bound together by our shared love of Campbell’s chunky chicken noodle.

So the clock ticked (though not nearly quickly enough) and the date marched on. He said he hoped I didn’t mind if he ordered food since he hadn’t eaten yet. As one of the most easy going people in the world, I certainly didn’t mind, but as a general rule of thumb to all men out there: if you’re taking a girl on a date and you’re going to eat, you should probably, at the very least, ask if she’d like to order something as well. But apparently not everyone passed Manners 101. It wasn’t until after he ordered his food and the waiter had left that he said, “Hey, you didn’t want anything, did you?” (Thoughtfulness like that is truly hard to come by these days.) When the food came, he jumped on it like a starving member of the Donner Party, proceeding to scarf down five mozzarella sticks, a basket of flaming hot chicken wings and an entire plate of fried calamari without so much as even asking if I wanted anything. So I just sat there, sipping on whatever final remnants of alcohol I had left, while watching him devour half of the appetizers on the menu. It was during this spectacle that I gained a deep understanding of his innermost soul (i.e. that he likes dogs better than cats) -- and watched him play three games of Brickbreaker on his Blackberry. Needless to say, the check could not have come quickly enough -- and when it did, I bolted straight to the bus stop and we parted ways for what I hoped would be the first and last time ever. After one hour and 57 painful minutes of my life that I will never get back, the nightmare had finally come to an end. Or so I thought. Less than an hour after the conclusion of that Dating Disaster, Mr. Personality sent me a text message: “I had SUCH a great time tonight. How ‘bout you come over for a can of Campbell’s sometime soon? ;)” Honey, I’d rather have a colonoscopy than sip on those egg noodles with you.

The one-way correspondence continued the next night:

Mr. Personality: So when may I see you again?

Me: Sorry - my schedule is crazy and I don’t have any time. 

Mr. P: But you do want to, right?
Mr. P: It’s so funny. I hardly know you, but I think you are so my type.
Mr. P: I just think we would mesh really well together.
Mr. P: There was just this spark when I met you. You glow. Maybe it is your radiant skin or your beautiful smile or the glow of your shining hair.
Mr. P: I just have a really great feeling about us.
[Four hours later, in the middle of the night]
Mr. P: I just can’t believe how many things we both like and I have to say you are so gorgeous and the thought of some soup sounds delightful right now.
Me: NO RESPONSE

The next day, I firmly but tactfully told him that I have no time for dating, that everything in my life is somewhat up in the air and that I appreciated his kind comments, but would have to pass on his offers to go out again. (In girl code, this means: I WOULD RATHER GET RUN OVER BY A MOVING TRAIN THAN SUFFER THROUGH ANOTHER DATE WITH YOU.) He seemed to get it, and so I thought I was done with him for good. Wrong again.

Just when I thought I was in the clear, he resurfaced (as they often do) just in time to give new meaning to the term “persistent” (which I’ve come to believe is only a euphemism for “insane”). This g-chat conversation provided a lovely interruption to my work day:

MP: hey
i feel like we haven't been as chatty
[10 seconds later]
MP: where are you?
Me: yeah, i've been swamped at work
MP: yeah it's okay
i guess i am just a bit sad
Me: about what?
MP: i know you have a bunch going on
but i felt like I connected with you
that's all i guess
MP: i mean you are very attractive, smart, quirky and fun to be around
Me: thanks. that's really nice of you
MP: so i guess i really wanted to pursue you
but i totally understand if this is not good timing
Me: well i'm sorry to make you sad
MP: don't be sorry
not your fault...just hurts
--
I just sat there, reeling with confusion and laughter and disbelief all at once, and asked myself one very important question: what date was he on? And what connection could he possibly have been talking about? I could stop by the local morgue and develop a better connection with a cadaver than I could with this guy. So I just closed out of the screen, vowed to take a more assertive approach next time (since clearly some people don’t take hints) and contemplated for a very fleeting moment the prospect of nunnery.

And with that, I was given just the impetus I needed to finally start my blog.

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