[This is a fictional piece. Any similarity to actual persons or occurrences is purely coincidental.]
My date canceled on me due to the fact that they couldn’t finish packing in time for moving the next day. I probably should have canceled the reservation at this seemingly upscale cocktail bar, but I did not. Not only because they will charge a no-show penalty but also because I find no harm checking this place out on my own, especially when it is allegedly the birthplace of the Beat Generation.
I’ve never felt uncomfortable sitting in a bar by myself, and sometimes would go alone intentionally for a nightcap. One thing with which I am not dealing too well is the stare; but this place has done a good job preserving privacy of their customers: they put up flowery and exquisite drapes between tables, essentially dividing the space into multiple silos. I’m sitting at the most inside table, so inside that no one will notice my existence. It’s a secret garden of some sort.
While waiting for my drinks, which is supposed to be a semi-strong dose of medicine comprising Maker’s, absinthe, Aperol, vanilla bean and honey, I’ve been eavesdropping on the conversation from the silo next to mine. Food. Ok, a harmless topic. Comparison of beet salad and Philly cheesesteak? Sure. Twenty minutes in, I decide that the texture of the orange peel floating in my drinks is a more fascinating subject of study. Are my past social exchanges as bland as this one? Do all social interactions necessarily involve pointless silence fillers? Does it sound worse than it is from a bystander’s perspective? Or am I too jaded and indifferent of social interaction as a whole?
That cannot be true. I sometimes felt the strong urge to get to know someone new, in parks, bars, at parties, through friends. Just when I began to know them better, I felt an equally strong urge to “un-know” them, not because they turn me off in any particular way. I’m too comfortable being left on my own device; and I hate to subject people to my own will or to force themselves to satisfy my needs in order for me to endure the interaction. Lately I’ve been feeling miserable, though all of a sudden I don’t feel a thing, until that miserable feeling overtook me again. Work is not the only source of misery; it is likely where my life is going (or not going) that caused this feeling of ennui. My life is stagnated, almost on all fronts. So you see my struggle of getting to know people while wishing that I’ve never met them at all.
The conversation at the next table progressed. Now they’ve established that the male maybe the next Zuckerberg and the female is a marketing guru who wished to close big deals since she was a child. I hope the two on this first date hear themselves talking, so that they can take it down a notch on the pretentiousness and self-righteousness. I’m desperate to see their faces — faces and the way people converse are often shockingly consistent.
I asked for the check, and now I’m out in the cold again. Walking along MacDougal Street, I am considering catching a show in a live music bar. There are so many of them in the Village. I take a right. Some guy stops me right after I get on Bleecker. He asks,”do you know where Comedy Cellar is?” I naturally point him to the right direction. He then asks, “have we met before?” Sure, it is a Saturday night when people are drunk and chatty and love each other, but dude, I don’t know you; and what a lame pick-up line. But he goes on and asks if I am some sort of lawyer. That is a very good guess so I ask how does he know. He takes out his phone and starts to scroll through his contacts. There, my number and first name, right there. It dawned on me that I sort of went out with the guy once or twice a year ago, and the ending as I remember it was nothing short of embarrassing: I said maybe another time to sex and he ghosted me.
He asks me where I am heading and whether I want to walk with him in the Washington Square Park. I could say no. But I am not going to. He is the one talking almost the whole time we are walking. I am listening attentively, mainly because I am curious and surprised by the encounter. He speaks about Christianity, and how he recently found himself committed to it and how his life finally has a purpose. He sees the world differently now. He talks about how he has practiced tennis so much that he found himself really good at it and planned to go pro. He talks about his anxiety of going on a date with me. He says he is embarrassed that he wants to be in bed with me but at the same time feels that is not good for being a long term partner, while things such as walking the park and talking appear to be much healthier. I tell him I agree, though I am deeply confused and cannot tell whether that comment is a compliment or an insult. We part ways at the Arch, and promise to text each other next time we feel like confiding into each other.
I keep walking, and can’t stop thinking about the bizarre rendezvous and the conversation. The whole thing is very abrupt, brief, and yet full of information. What we talked about are so dense, and heavy, and substantive. I do not know the dude well, if at all. And yet here we are, exchanging ideas about philosophies, life, religion and emotions. We were connected deeply for a fleeting moment. No pleasantries, no food talk, no silence fillers. That conversation has a purpose despite arising out of the most random circumstances.
I decide to give the night another go. I turn around and head towards whatever bar on MacDougal. I know I will be disappointed and get bored very fast, but that’s okay.