Why Internet dating will eventually cause the destruction of contemporary society.

It's a Tuesday night, and Foolisht is meeting a potential whatever-you-call-them now at a local bar that she's never heard of.  They have exchanged emails and text messages and so far, so mediocre.  But OK.  One rather awkward phone conversation, but then Foolisht has never been good on the phone and blames the apparent dead silences on her own inability to be sufficiently interesting.  The bar the guy chose was a gaudy place with dark booths, and this makes Foolisht suspicious but not too suspicious.  She goes.

Man is sitting at the bar, hunched over a drink.  Foolisht smiles, which in many cultures indicates friendliness, and says hello.

Foolisht: (smiling) Hello.

Man looks up.  He was lying about his hair, for one thing, but Foolisht is not so concerned with grays as she is with the fact that Man seems unable to make eye contact.  He looks at some point above and to the left of Foolisht's head.  Foolisht is tempted to ask him what he's staring at.

Foolisht: You're [name omitted], aren't you?  I'm Foolisht.

Man: Yeah. Um.  Hello.

Foolisht: I'll just, uh, sit here, OK?

Man stares at Foolisht's right shoulder.

Man: Um, OK.  You want a drink?

Foolisht: Sure.  Gin and tonic?

Man: What?

Foolisht: A gin and tonic, please.

Man: A what? 

It is not loud in the bar.  It's Tuesday and there are seven people in the entire place, including the bartender and the bouncer.  The bartender hears the order even if Man does not and is whipping up a drink.

Foolisht: A gin and tonic.

Man: Oh.

Foolisht: He's making me one.

Man: Who?

Foolisht: The bartender.

Man: Oh.  You told him?

Foolisht: I think he overheard.

Man: What?

Foolisht: I think he overheard when I was telling you what I wanted.

By this point the gin and tonic is prepared in all its limey glory, and Foolisht slips a ten across the bar while Man shifts his gaze to her elbow.

Foolisht: Here's to Tuesdays.

Man: What?

Foolisht: It's Tuesday, I was just making a silly toast.

Man: Oh.  Yeah.  Tuesdays suck.

Foolisht, pleased that an opinion has been offered: Tough week?

Man: Me?

Foolisht: Yes.

Man: No.

Foolisht: Oh.

Man: Yeah.

Foolisht: Uh-huh.

Man is now sitting in a three quarter position, turned slightly toward Foolisht but still not making eye contact.  Strangely, he is smiling widely but it might be a grimace of pain.

Foolisht: So what do you do?

Man: Uh.  I work in computers.

Foolisht: Yeah?  That's cool.

Man: And I produce music videos.

Foolisht: Really?  That's awesome, who for?

Man: Myself.

Foolisht: You're in a band?

Man: No, my friend is.

Foolisht: So you produce them for your friend?

Man: Yeah.

Foolisht: Oh.

A very uncomfortable silence ensues.  Foolisht is about two-thirds through her drink and has a ten minute walk back to her apartment.  She can already see where this is going -- or so she believes -- but doesn't want to cut out yet.  Besides she just paid $10 for her drink and she's going to enjoy it.

Foolisht: I teach high school literature.

Man: Oh.

Another deep sea of silence.

Foolisht: I write, too.

Man: I write.

Foolisht: Really?  What do you write?

Man: Screenplay.

Foolisht: Oh.  (Foolisht has a deep and abiding dislike for screenplay writers but is trying to overcome her prejudice for those bottom-dwellers.)   Tell me about it.

Man: It's not done yet.

Foolisht: I understand.

Man: It's about cops.  Set in the future.

Foolisht: Oh.

Man: Mostly I produce videos.

Foolisht: Music videos.

Man: Yeah.

Foolisht: OK.

Man: Mm-hmm.

Another silence.  This time Foolisht tries to see how long she can go without saying anything.  Man is staring at her decolletage, which is a minor improvement, but quite, quite minor.  In fact, it's a little creepy.

Foolisht: I think I should go.

Man: Really?

Foolisht: Yeah, I'm feeling sleepy.  I don't think I'm being a great conversationalist.

Man: Yeah.

Foolisht: So it was nice meeting you.

Foolisht stands up and suddenly finds herself pinned against the bar because Man is leaning on her.  Not hugging her.  Not groping her.  Not even inappropriately touching her.  Man is simply resting his whole body against Foolisht's and in the process pins her against the bar.  He is taller than her and smells like grapefruit and sweat.

Foolisht: OK!  I should go.

Man: OK.

Foolisht: Yeah, OK.  Thanks again.  See you.

Man: I'll call you.

And would you believe it?  He did.