Last night, standing on the platform for the 6 train at Union Square, I was staring down the track looking for the train, silently reprimanding myself for not leaving my apartment a few minutes earlier. In New York, the train always seems to be running slow when you need it most to be there fast. And everyone believes that if you just stare hard enough down the long dark tunnel, the train will sense your impatience and get there faster.
I was running late for a blind date, and was worried that my date would assume I was one of those perpetually tardy people. After all, there’s no second chance at a first impression, right? Should I make some lame joke about Indian Standard Time? I was thinking to myself. But don’t they have that same joke for all ethnicities? Do they have it for Jews?
Still staring down the platform. Now I feel myself starting to sweat a little, not just because I’m getting antsy, but also because the subway platforms have no air conditioning or ventilation so basically you’re in a sauna. I can literally feel my hair starting to frizz. Why did I even leave it down? I’m going to look like Diana Ross by the time I get there. Did I put on deodorant? Shit! Oh wait, I did. Ok, good, at least I won’t smell bad.
Did I mention this was a blind date? Yes, I did. Number….who knows, I lost count. Seriously, where is the train? I looked at the time, I had ten minutes. And I still had a short train ride, an avenue and two streets of walking ’till I would get there. I was feeling a little stressed, and then I started getting annoyed that I was stressed. Why? Why do I do this to myself? It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You were just supposed to meet someone without even trying and live happily ever after together. No one told me about all this bullshit blind dating effort you have to put in first.
The thing is, I’m really open to being set-up by friends. Because I know that it rarely happens that way where you just live your life and you meet your future husband in the grocery store as you both reach for the same box of locally grown organic granola cereal. At this point over half the couples I know started as set-ups or internet dates. So that’s why I agree to it, these dates, and overall am grateful that someone cared enough to set me up with his friend/colleague/dog walker/parole officer.
Until, of course, I find myself late to the date, standing on the horribly stale and hot platform waiting for a train that just doesn’t seem to be coming. I decided my telepathic staring powers were not making the train appear on the track, so I finally look away. In the corner of my eye I see a man walking towards me. Suddenly he stops short. I look up — it’s my ex. Fiancé. Awesome.
We start to make small talk. What are you doing here? How’s work? It’s the kind of banter where you’re both saying words but still a little too frazzled to fully process any of the conversation. Suddenly the train is there, and we’re getting on, sitting down next to each other. We haven’t seen each other for years. Please don’t ask me where I am going. Of course I would have to lie, because how embarrassing would that be, to have your ex know that you were on your way to a blind date. That you had to still put yourself out there because you hadn’t figured it out yet, this love thing. At least I look good. Or, like Diana Ross.
Luckily I only have to go one stop, so we exchange awkward goodbyes and I run off the train. A few minutes later I am stepping into the bar and trying to shake off the jitters my chance subway meeting had added to the nerves I already had for the date. After my eyes adjust to the darkness, I look around. I see a guy rising from his seat and smiling in my general direction. Must be him. Ok, time to be charming. Here we go.
I smile back, and walk over to meet him.
Half way...where? 