Bonus points if you can read a map
When it comes to asking for directions, I think that most guys would rather cut off their <insert some appendage here> than actually do it. Although I also have been known to drive around aimlessly whilst trying to find my way, I reserve that for my leisurely drives, and not when I have some place to be … especially on a date.
The following is an account of what transpired when I decided to meet up with Peter, a boy I met on Plenty of Fish. I spent a lot of time talking to Peter prior to meeting up with him. In fact, I would say too much time. The danger with online dating, which is proven by the research coming out in this area, confirms the dangers of ‘getting to know’ someone purely through virtual communication. I recently saw a statistic stating that 11% of on-line daters claim to be ‘in love’ prior to ever meeting the object of their affection face-to-face. People! Let’s stop and think for a second about whom we are really falling in love with here: it’s NOT the person, but rather what that person has told us in writing. (For some humour relief, check out Do You Wanna Date My Avatar – The Guild)
So, on my computer screen, Peter seemed really cool. He had a decent picture (which he sent to me with his initial message; it’s not posted to his public profile), and he was well-spoken (errrr… written); we exchanged a few awesome e-mails; and we both seemed to have a thirst for a first date that was something other than ordinary (i.e. coffee.) So, when we finally decided to meet up, I proposed a walk in the Gatineau Park.
BEFORE, you say anything; I’ve already been chewed out by my friends for deciding to meet a stranger in some secluded mountain park, so hold back on any such comments. Oh, and DON’T do it yourself.
We agreed to meet at noon on Sunday. This was the first time I was driving to our chosen rendez-vous spot, so I Googled the directions, and took off with 30 minutes to spare. Unfortunately, I didn’t take into account the estival road construction, or the epic Google Maps fail that transpired (Google fail? Inconceivable!) Basically, Google was telling me to turn off onto a parkways actually ran above me; which had no on or off ramp. When I realized this at 11:55, I resigned to being late, pulled over and txt’ed Peter announcing my imminent lateness. Then, I promptly headed to the park visitor’s centre to ask for directions (luckily I knew where it was). After the info desk girl straightened me out, I was once again headed to meet my date. I drive-texted (I KNOW! How awful!… and it’s illegal in Quebec too) Peter to let him know I would be there soon. Surprisingly, his reply was:
“Don’t worry, I’m lost too.”
I arrived on location at 12:25 (not too late, right?) and texted Peter once again to let him know I was there, then sat down to wait… and wait… and wait. After 30 mins of waiting, I texted him once more, but Peter reassured me that he was almost there. So, I waited some more. At 1:15 – ready to give up – I decided to text him one final time. This time his reply was:
“Yeah, I can’t find and give up. Want to meet on a patio somewhere back in Ottawa? Drinks on me.”
Really?! What a winner! I probably should have called it quits then, but considering I had a hard time finding the place myself, I agreed to his alternate plan. But, in my mind, Peter already had 2 strikes against him. As it turned out, Strike 3 was just around the corner. When we finally met, Peter was lackluster in more ways than one:
- Appearance: he didn’t look at all like in that one photo he had sent me. In fact he looked more like this.
- Fidgety: he was visibly uncomfortable, whether it was because of the heat or because he was embarrassed about his lackluster performance.
- Boooo(yawn) ring: our conversation seriously lacked flow. In fact, the flow might have been negative.
So, in the end, it was the end of Peter. But, dear men, take heed: even if asking someone for directions may undermine your masculinity (or whatever), when planning a date, figure out where you’re going and get there on time. After all, it’s a woman’s prerogative to be late.