Missed connections. Most adults treat them the same way we did masturbation in high school. We’re all doing it, but nobody’s willing to fess up to it. Well, nobody’s willing to fess up to it first; once somebody admits to being a fan, though, everybody admits they do it too. And, most of us are just reading them, not posting them. I mean the people who post them, talk about a bunch of poorly adjusted malcontents. Reading them, looking for yourself, trying to remember what fucking shirt you were wearing in Whole Foods last Tuesday because that one might be you and staring at people in the Last Drop so some lonely asshole finally posts one about you is one thing…but posting them, my god, it takes a sad, sad soul to do such a thing.
So this one time, I was drunk and posted a missed connection.
I used to live at 23rd and Spruce, and my walk home took me by the Snack Bar on 20th Street. Over the weeks I started to develop a walk by crush on one of the waitresses there. She was adorable and every day I’d try to casually strut by whilst taking a peak to my left to see if she was working. The crush was harmless; except for the one time I almost walked into traffic because I held my creepy gaze a bit too long. She looked cute that day, leave me alone.
At any rate, I’m prone to fits of idealism and romanticism when I’m drunk. It’s even worse when I’m drunk on wine. I went out one night two years ago and got good and properly shitfaced on wine before tottering home with some gross food. It was probably about three bites into my italian hoagie from Old Nelson that the brilliant idea of posting a missed connection for my crush hit me. Couldn’t hurt, could it? I put my hoagie to the side and composed what is probably the best missed connection in the history of missed connections. If I’d had the foresight to realize what an enormous douche I was being, I would have saved it. A quick check of my spam email account and craigslist confirms that it is, sadly, lost to the ages.
I’ll try to recreate the post, as best I can, here:
Snack Bar Waitress: M4W
I’m sure you have a boyfriend, but I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re beautiful and if he doesn’t tell you that every day then he doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air you do blah blah blah
I woke up the next morning hoping against hope that I just dreamed about posting a missed connection. Hoping that I hadn’t finally crossed that thin line between single dood and creepy internet guy; and fine I’ll admit it, there was probably a tiny bit of me that thought this would lead to a sweeping and intense romance. God I suck.
I opened my spam account, saw the confirmation email from craigslist and wallowed in a dull shame I have yet to encounter since. But, there was something else in my spam account. A response! Huzzah! My drunken dalliance had paid off, surely this would be a great story to tell our 15 grandkids some day and I started to plan our first date and picked out puppies and kitties we would get together and then I stopped acting like an asshole and actually opened the email.
“I don’t have a boyfriend”
You’re goddamn right you don’t. This was a good start. I should have done this years ago. I took the name in the email address and did some light facebook stalking just to take a look at my future wife. There was only one problem. It was the wrong fucking waitress. Granted, this girl was cute too, but she was way too young and decidedly not my crush.
Dejected, heartbroken, a little thankful that my drunken shitheadedness didn’t out me as a complete creep to my walk by crush…I was all of these things. But mostly, I was umm, I was…well, I don’t fucking know. Sometimes you just do something stupid that’s kinda funny and there isn’t any grand lesson man. Sheesus, this is a blog, not a Goofus and Galant cartoon.
Oh yeah, two years later I met the wrong waitress at a party and went on three dates with her, one of which she showed up wasted to (it was a Tuesday). But, that’s a different story for a different time.