Dylan
The Internet and I are best friends. We’ve done everything together. We’ve grown up together. We’ve downloaded music, we’ve ordered food, we’ve learned new languages, we’ve discovered women, and we’ve made millions.
As I turn toward the entrance for Chelsea Piers on a Friday afternoon, my phone in my hand, I see no reason why I can't find a woman here.
Not Chelsea Piers.
Please.
Who meets people in person anymore?
That’s crazy talk.
I mean here. On this fantastic device I’m holding. This is where everyone finds love these days. Swiping left, swiping right. Hitting this button. Liking that button. Okay fine, maybe they're finding other things. But I'm determined to discover happiness the same way I've discovered everything else. Online.
“This ad is a winner.” I brandish my phone at Mia, one of my closest friends, and my teammate on my laser tag team when she’s in town. “Any second now, I will be this much closer to finding Mrs. Right, don’t you think?”
Her hazel eyes stare intently at the screen, and her answer comes in the form of a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Wow. That’s pretty much on the nose.”
I reach the door and yank it open, a blast of cool air conditioning greeting us. “Isn’t it best for me to go all in? Why fuck around?”
She laughs. “I suppose because perhaps not revealing all your cards at once can be a good thing when it comes to dating.”
I scoff. “No need to hold back. I’m ready for the real thing.” I push my glasses higher up on the bridge of my nose. “Besides, don’t you know me by now? Do I do anything half-baked?”
“You’re usually fully roasted.” She places a hand on my arm. “But don’t you honestly want to try a softer touch? Maybe hold a little something back?”
As we stride to the check-in counter, ready to tackle all forms of entrepreneur enemies in our weekly CEO club game, I shake my head. “Look, the great thing about the Internet is you can be completely direct. You can say exactly what you want. It’s not like when you meet somebody in person and have to worry about following the right protocol, saying the right thing, discussing or not discussing the right topic. When you find someone online, you can 100 percent be yourself and speak the truth. So that’s what I do.”
Besides, this is The. Best. Ad. Ever.
Man seeks woman:
Hot, rich, smart, witty, self-made multimillionaire Internet genius seeks classy, intelligent, sexy, fun-loving woman who’s interested in new experiences and sharing all the good things, from eating out, to movies, to softball, to savoring the adventure of this amazing world together.
Who wouldn’t answer that ad?
“Let me get this straight,” Mia says as the attendant hands us our weapons and we head into the laser tag arena, ready to save Gotham from the bad guys. “Do you think everyone is speaking the truth online?”
I laugh as I take off my Yankees ball cap and set it in a locker. I turn off my phone and tuck it in the hat. “That’s not what I’m saying. What I am saying is there is no empirical evidence that meeting someone IRL”—I stop to sketch air quotes—“improves your chances at love.”
“Nor is there evidence that meeting someone online improves your chances.”
“You met Patrick in person, and you’re not even a thing yet,” I say, mentioning the guy she’s been keen on for some time.
She shakes her head at me, her eyes turning to slits. “You know that’s not the reason we’re not a thing.”
I wave a hand. “Too many nots in that sentence.”
“Just wait and see if I cover for you in today’s game.”
“You will. Because you’re just as competitive as I am. And speaking of, let’s wager. If I don’t find Mrs. Right waiting for me on my phone at the end of this game, I’ll buy drinks tonight for the whole crew.”
She offers a hand to shake. “Deal.”
Then I race through the darkened cityscape, ducking behind cardboard buildings, hiding behind cutouts of bridges as I mow down a pack of app-making CEOs. We emerge victorious at the end of our hour-long session. I’m both ready for a round of drinks, no matter who’s treating, and prepared to check out the bounty of beautiful, brilliant babes who are also eager to find true love.
I turn my phone on as I leave with Mia, ready to meet up with our buddies. “What do you think? Will we find the next Mrs. Parker here?” I ask, tapping the screen.
“Oh yeah. Absolutely. She’ll be the one wearing an apron and waving to you from in front of a white picket fence.”
I stop in my tracks when I open the inbox on the dating site. It’s clogged. I stare at my phone, as if something’s wrong with it. “It’s like it’s all backed up,” I say, as if this is a math problem I can’t solve.
Mia tugs her blond hair out of her ponytail holder. “Oh, really? I’m so shocked. Do you mean ten thousand women answered your ad?”
My jaw comes unhinged as I stare at the cornu-un-copia of messages. Men, women, mail-order brides, women with teeth, women without teeth, thrice-divorced ladies, women in knee-high socks and short shorts with breasts the size of potted plants, as well as girls who look like they haven’t even graduated high school.
I swallow and gulp. Maybe I was a little off with my prediction. “It’s like it’s teeming with the masses.”
Mia sighs and smiles. “That’s the problem.”