Logic Games

I met Jon online. He was really cute, had gone to a great college and was a fan of witty banter over email. We met at Anfora in the West Village. Here are some things I didn’t like about Jon:

He was really sweaty—like had to wipe the sweat from his face every 5 minutes sweaty. “I swear I’m not nervous,” he said. “I just came from the gym.”

Sexy.

Then, he mentioned the gym again in this conversation:

Jon: “Oh, you used to be a dancer? Why’d you stop?”

Me: “At first it was because of the price of classes and the time commitment. But then whenever I’d go back to class, I wasn’t as good at it anymore. It just wasn’t as fun. Haven’t you ever had that happen?”

Jon: “No. Like I just started weight lifting a couple months ago. And I just keep getting better! Today I lifted more than ever before. It felt great.”

I think he missed the point.

But he kept telling me how logical he was. His sense of humor was logical, he only made friends with people who were logical, and he was good at his job as a trader because he was just so darn logical. I wish I’d kept track of how many times he used that word. Here’s an example:

The bar had a long list of specialty cocktails. I ordered one, then looked back at the menu after the bartender had walked away to see that there was also a jalapeño margarita, one of my favorite drinks.

“Oh, didn’t see this one,” I said. “Hope I made the right decision.”

“Should we get the bartender back here?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I said. “What I ordered looked great, too. I accept my decision.”

“Well that’s a relief, or else you would have had to reject it.”

“What?”

“Sorry, that’s just my logical sense of humor again. If you don’t accept something, you’d have to reject it, which is clearly impossible.”

“Well, not really,” I said. “I could reject it.”

“I guess you’re just not as logical as I am,” he said.

He kept doing that. Making statements that, I’ll admit, were logical, but didn’t make any sense in context, and, even if they did, were not amusing or clever.

Then our drinks arrived. His came in a martini glass and included a cherry. Mine came in a tall glass. No cherry.

“Whoa, really?” he said to the bartender. “This girly drink is mine?”

I laughed, “A real man can drink out of a martini glass and survive.”

He got really upset, telling the bartender that he just couldn’t handle drinking out of that glass, and could he just pour it into another glass? The look I exchanged with the bartender was priceless. But he did it, poured the drink into a man glass for Jon. My date became manlier before my very eyes.

Then I asked him a favorite question of mine: “So why’d you decide to try online dating?” An awkward topic? Maybe, but it wasn’t exactly a secret that we met each other online.

He told me that he didn’t need to be online dating (obviously), and that I was his last date before he quit cold turkey. “I just don’t get the same thrill of the chase online as I do when I meet someone at a bar,” he said. “And I especially hate when a girl messages me first on line.”

“I messaged you first,” I said. Well, I had.

“Did you? Yeah, I hate that.  Girls just don’t have any game.”

“It’s online dating,” I said. “How much game could possibly be involved?”

“I mean, I don’t remember what you messaged me,” he said. “But it was probably something boring, with no game, like ‘wanna chat.’”

I then reminded him of the clever, charming, awesome message that I had actually sent him. To which he said, “Yeah I don’t remember that. I just responded cause you were hot.”

Was this the ‘game’ he had referred to? Ah yes, I can see why he doesn’t need online dating.

When we left the bar, I tried and failed to hail a cab.

“This is why I rarely come to the West Village,” I said. “It’s impossible to get a cab.”

“And that’s exactly why I moved a couple blocks away,” he said. “I can just walk to my apartment.” With that, Mr. Logical left me on the corner and walked home. It took me 45 minutes to find a ride.

Well, Jon, I hope you’re not too upset that you wasted your last online date on me, who wasn’t very impressed with your choice of drinking glass, weight lifting prowess or logic skills. Good luck to you in the non-digital world. You’re going to need it.

—Raz, 25, NYC