dating men

It’s a date!

~ Addie ~ Leave a comment

clinking glasses

Well, dear readers, it happened.

A man I met in real life, whom I chatted up apropos of nothing, and to whom I gave my number, asked me out.

It took a while. First, he sent me a text that my phone didn’t recognize so it hid it from me for a few weeks. (Gee. Thanks iPhone).  While cleaning up old texts, I found it and wrote back.

One thing led to another.

“He asked me out!” I breathlessly told anyone in line at Whole Foods or the bank willing to listen. “No fakey online photos! No cheesy usernames! Just two people meeting and hitting it off!”

So here we are, at Sugar Lounge, where we first met.

We talk about our week, our vacation plans, our pet peeves, and our life philosophy.

Now, this man isn’t completely my type. A little rough around the edges. But cute. Blue eyes that crinkle when he smiles. Sincere. Working in an industry helping people.

I’m feeling warm from the wine.

“Ever been married, Malcolm?”

Silence. He looks down. He looks back up.

“Yeah. I’m married right now.”

Cue needle scratch over vinyl record. Room goes quiet while somewhere a wine glass hits granite floor. (Nah, I didn’t drop my glass. I’ve been through this before.)

So, we’ll be friends.

Next up: Addie Hits the Road to Find Love in Other Places.

 

 

Men in elevators, part 2

~ Addie ~ Leave a comment

elevator3

So I’ve left the San Francisco Public Library Main Branch archives collection and am headed to the elevator. It’s nearly 8:00 p.m. and the announcement is going out in the building that they are about to close.

As you may recall, I am on the sixth floor. The elevator door opens and there is a guy standing there. He looks confused.

As you might also recall, I’d had some luck flirting with another guy a few hours ago on this same elevator system. Now it’s late, and this gentleman seems to need help. This situation calls for some kind of comment.

“Going down?” I say.

“Well, trying to?” says he.

He’s pushing the button for the first floor. The button is not interested in his request.

So I push it. Same result.

Now, anyone who has ever visited the SF Public Library Main Branch may be aware that there is a mystifying situation between floors one and two. If you enter from the Larkin St. entrance, you are on floor two. You can get to floor two by stairs or by special elevator. You can get on an elevator, but you can’t go up, only down.

So, if you’re like me and you want to go, let’s say up, you need to descend to the first floor and take a different elevator.

Why this is I don’t know. But a real live bunch of people designed this building only a few decades ago and a lot of money and civic-mindedness went into it. Perhaps there’s a reason.

I feel like it’s an inside joke for the SFPL librarians. They never get enough of watching us as we befuddle our way around floors one and two, hitting buttons to nowhere on the elevator, giving up and taking the stairs; having conversations with the security guard (also in on the joke, I suspect); getting directions; scratching our heads and, dejected: getting on a different elevator.

And so it is me and this guy, in the elevator at closing time, and we’re both trying to get to the first floor. Somewhere, a librarian is having a giggle.

I press a button for floor two. Eureka! The button lights up. Guy looks surprised and sheepish.

“I swear I tried that one too,” he says.

Corny, I know …

This is where I feel it necessary to say something nice. And flirty. I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Oh, you probably loosened for me!”

The rest of our conversation involves me explaining my SFPL Floors One and Two conspiracy theory. But I’ve explained all that to you already.

We get to floor two, and take the stairs to floor one. And go our separate ways.

Up next: Talking to men at a hipster coffee house on a Sunday morning