How I lost my first Tinder Date

It was one of those overcast days in Cape Town where the sky seems like it was built out of one great sheet of dull lead. I was listening to Hendrix to blast away negative feelings and keep my mind clear. Sometimes you feel that you are only part of a dream - one where you might actually have some control over your waking life - might  change the course of a miserable path that a morning seems to offer. Because that was one of the 3 or 4 dates of my life,and I was already 29 and I couldn't face the more terrible realisation of the place in the world which that conferred on me; one with possibly no agency. No choice. No power over the future.

"Stone free! Hendrix was hollering - as I spun off like a lost ember from the highway onto the off-ramp and off to the on-button. It would would take, after a few more turns, to the little coffee-shop lined street. "That's right!" I felt the joy of Hendrix' rising vocals "and if no-one else gets it, they just don't have enough soul for the project". I was referring to the project of my life of course.

It was weird to find the little street empty and only vaguely troubling that she wasn't yet there. Maybe she'd let me off the hook. More likely, she was late. The effect of her being late was partly betrayal, but also that she was doing me a favor. Perhaps had picked up my nervousness telepathically and decided to sleep in a little longer.

Not a soul to be seen, I said to myself as I blinked uncomfortably.

We had proposed the Ship Ahoy in an email as the designated meeting place after we connected on tinder, but the venue was looking grimmer  than I had ever seen it . I peered through the doors -  All the wretchedness that Observatory - which is the grotty suburb I am refering to - seemed to have gone to sleep in the place the previous night .

"Who was this girl? And would she buy me out of the darkness I inhabitted?" came the strange voice echoed from past experiences.

From within the darkness of the woodwork, I made out one human woodlouse - a groggy looking bearded creature with straw colored hair and whiskers. He looked no older than 35.

I rapped on the doors and belted, "Hey, are you guys open?!"Doleful eyes swung on me: an insipid creature with a face hanging on a tall body. "My god!" I thought. This figure was leaning on a broom for support. He simply shook his head. No energy to speak of, let alone carry out any meaningful action action. The minute gesture came from the grave of that woodwork interior" Not now, and not ever. "

So I turned around, wondering aimlessly down that road, my friends. I made a circuit, walking down the length of the block and then turning back on myself on the opposite pavement. Part of me was trying to stay excited as the other part of me - old fear - rapidly ate at it. I passed by a truck unloading some vegetables about midway there.

Dear God I thought, clasping my chest with folded arms. I didn't want to be the only one in that street when she arrived. In my mind it looked desperate to be the only one,- even though it was just normal to call someone on an early morning date. That's all it was, after all.. I am a paranoid type. Maybe I'd just wait until a few people come into this road, I considered. But I felt I couldn't handle seeing her now. I wanted to stand behind that truck until she arrived on that street. I wanted to send my head out like a lizard every now and then until that moment came. And then, when I saw her, I'd leap out like a crazy horse! Hey there darling!!! She'd understand the inherent irony of the action. She'd have compassion on me. Compassion for the fact that I was pointing at myself and laughing at the fact that I, a weird, now old, sonofagun actually so much as considered asking a girl on a date.

But I didn't hide behind the delivery truck like a reptile! No, my friends. Instead, I passed Armchair Café, a beige building which used to be cool in the early 2000's, and is now a shithole,, then crossed the road to the internet café I frequented when I lived in the area, and back again to the opposite side of the street where I had been earlier - I kept roving like that until I reached "'That BookStore," (how about that for an imaginative name?) a place I remember mentioning in a Tinder message to her.

At "That Bookstore" I paused for a minute and presently, went in.

The introduction of an Irvine Welsh book quoted Schopenhauer - Something about the world being an oppressive place whose tendency was to maim and undermine a man! What an introduction to the day from literature. What a ray of sunlight to elevate my spirits.

When I emerged, there was to my relief  at least some movement in the streets. I was no longer so nakedly desperate. The stirrings of a few reluctant - if frazzled - commuters, dragged along by a need to survive and do shoddy day jobs. I stood there for a moment,  and then, a strange thing occured- my view of the world became cinematic. I noticed everything I was doing. I had seen her, without my mind realising it. My gait, the way my arms swung, my clumsy head which jolted with every step became even more clumsy in my mind. This happened at precisely the moment I saw her rounding the corner. She was wearing a beige coat, and while I couldn't make out her face in any discernible detail, she was definitely Asian, which was part of the brief . When she stopped at The Ship Ahoy, I had no doubts it was her.

I braced myself to meet the specter. I had to approach her, I realised I could take one good look at her and then just leave the scene. She wouldn't have known any different. Maybe she'd think for a second I was the guy from Tinder, but then just reach the conclusion that I hadn't pitched.  I didn't though, I just continued dragging myself forward to her form like the few commuters there had been dragging their kets to work.

The camera, the cinema in my mind was shaking violently with each nearing tread, and everything it made out felt far too immediate. In truth, I felt like the film I was in was treating my like a stalker, which wasn't fair. Come right ye old gods of cinema! What the actual fuck?

She was prettier than I imagined. She was not photogenic, but in real life she glowed. She stood outside The Ship Ahoy for some time, in the alcove outside the door, probably wondering if I'd stood her up. After approaching her awkwardly and shaking her hand, I asked her if she was whatever her name was on the Tinder profile. I  suggested Honey Bun, a place on the corner as a way of salvaging moment. The place has a slight veneer of class at least - I had nothing to say. Conversation had already run dry  - Honey Bun, was a more fresh, hipster type coffee shop, at least outwardly. I'd always felt it to be above me, like Kloof Street. But my tone said I'd never step in that grungy hole in the wall called the Ship Ahoy - even though I had - many times. Unconsciously I fell behind her as an excuse to avoid conversation I didn't have, but a part of me felt I should be confident at the same time.

 Weirdly, I felt that I'd already achieved what I needed to and that she liked me already. My feelings were rocking in different directions like waves changing the course of a ship, sometimes 180 degrees, and my thoughts were not coming together in any helpful way. She had come, which meant she liked me, I thought. I can't string a sentence together though.

We entered Honey Bun - and even though she opened the door, I gestured for her to go first, which was pointless. I realised this as I opened my mouth to tell her, but I had to say it since I'd started. We sat down at a table close to the window facing the little street we had just come in from. Sitting down, I remember remarking "It's really great that you came - thanks for making it so early!". I asked her what she'd like to drink and she called the waitress. She said a decaff. I asked the waitress for a decaff for her and an Americano for me. Then I told her I had brought something - it was a book by James Baldwin - "Go Tell it on the Mountain." She had told me that she couldn't find a place to buy Baldwin's books on the Tinder messenger. When I laid it on the table though, and told her she could borrow it, she said "You know what? I probably won't be borrowing it, because my lecturer says that his latest work is too white bourgeoisie."

She was so gifted at communication and articulating her feelings. Every word I said was being monitored. There was only a bemused reaction to everything I said. I used the phrase "You know what I mean" a few times, rhetorically. She said "No I don't." This was supposed to be a literary meetup, and before I realized what I was saying, I had already told her that I never finish reading books. Her expression was one of shock. Why not!? She asked. OH, I said, taken aback by the scowl that came with her words - I just don't. That was hardly an explanation of course. Then, as if things couldn't get worse, we started talking about politics ( she was writing a book which touched on South African politics).Well, things just went from bad to terrible then.

It all begins with first impressions ladies and gentlemen. I am very poor at those. And I should never have gotten onto politics. But maybe there's still hope for me.