Hanna and I went for a drink the other day. Actually, she was having a drink with a man she met on an app. I was plan B or D for after that. Hanna thinks she’s more likely to meet someone good after a bad date than usual because she’s had some bad experiences before. justice. Karma. She tried to explain it to me a few times. But either I’m too stupid, or she explained it badly, or most likely her theory is wrong.
Hanna wanted to go to a bar where the drinks are way too expensive and way too small. She was annoyed, cursed a lot and drank even more. He was constantly showing her pictures of his dog, she said. “One with its muzzle pressed in, one of the really ugly ones!” Even though she told him she hated dogs. That’s stupid of him! He wouldn’t respect her! ‘He didn’t listen to me very well! I hate men who can’t listen!” I thought she was exaggerating. And told her so. I didn’t think she was okay with me. But seriously, I stopped every time a woman showed me a picture of a dog see…How many times have I had to marvel at pictures of puppies? ALL DOGS!!! Not yours, just the ones that just went on Instagram! If I walked off each time I would have had 37% less sex had in my life.
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Finally, Hanna went home. I stayed. This because the woman two seats next to us kept looking at me non-stop. I told Hanna and she looked at the woman as unobtrusively as people always do when she is told to look unobtrusively. Hanna nodded, she was hot, she said and said goodbye shortly afterwards. When Hanna sits next to me, nothing ever happens. Women are in freeze mode when other women are around.
I ordered another damn expensive drink, the wife’s friend was gone, I went there. The conversation was a bit rough. Perhaps also because the girlfriend returned quickly, but did not want to disturb us and was therefore demonstratively typing something on her smartphone. We’ve talked about what people say. Bar, drinks, sometime down the track. She has just started flight attendant training, which lasts only three months, so she can work part-time during her studies. “And fly cheap!”
I want to know what she studies. “Nothing yet. I’m on my gap year.” I estimated it at 24, maybe 27. But now I was unsure. If she had repeated a grade multiple times or was first in high school or if she had completed adult high school, she would be 23 years old now. 23 is young but okay. 19 is not good. If she was that old she would have been two when I came of age.
I didn’t ask her age. She didn’t ask for mine either. She asked if I had Insta. I said yes, “But there’s nothing on it.” She looked at me confused. My profile is empty. I find there’s never a good reason to share a photo with people I don’t know. And the people who know me know what I look like and I can tell what I experience. She typed her profile name into the app, hit “Follow” and said goodbye.
I sat down at the bar again, ordered the bill, and looked at her profile. “Love yourself” was written between two flowers in the bio. Including an airplane, probably symbolic of their current education, in addition to the coffee, champagne and camera emoji. Her photos: Lots of selfies with lots of filters and in between: puppies.
I didn’t write to her. So I replied to Sina, who asked what I was doing on Wednesday. I know what you’re thinking. But she’s 34, after all, and I couldn’t be her father.
as long as
am
