This post by guest blogger, Lesley Hershman, is about the interesting studies that can be made from observing the people around you. Who knew you could learn so much about dating through people watching?
Because my husband and I have been married for 25 years, we don’t
have that much to talk about when we go out to dinner. After initial
opening statements (“Did you really try to use the plunger at least
five times before you called the plumber?” or “Are we going to switch
drycleaners already or what?”) we sit back in a companionable silence,
with just an occasional comment about the quality of the food or speed
of our waitperson. If we are in a restaurant with a TV on the wall, my
husband will immediately become immersed in any game being shown, no
matter what sport is playing. If there is no TV, his Blackberry makes
repeated appearances partially hidden under the table so that when I
say, “can you please wait until after dinner to check that?” he can
halfheartedly pretend that he was just adjusting his napkin.
All of which gives me plenty of time to observe my fellow diners and
to expertly determine which couples are married, which of them have
been dating for quite awhile, and my all time favorite dinner show,
those who are on a first date. I can usually tell before my entrée
arrives if it’s a date arranged by mutual desire, bringing together two
people willing to give it a go. This is the simplest of field studies,
because there are the obvious clues that are so easy to detect: eager
conversation, smiling and laughing between the daters, who usually are
both leaning towards each other on the table. This contented twosome
often starts with a leisurely drink and appetizers because time is of
no importance. They relish this opportunity to really get acquainted
and they’ll sit there until the restaurant is empty and their waiter is
dozing off in the corner.
But then there’s the opposite of the successful first date and
that’s the dreaded Fix Up That Never Should Have Happened, But Was Arranged By
Well Meaning Friends. (Full disclosure: I’ve been one of those
misguided matchmakers who brought together two people who would have
been perfectly happy spending the rest of their lives never meeting
each other. I quickly learned that there is a delicate artistry to
fix-ups and if you aren’t a matchmaking Michelangelo, I recommend you
direct your earnest efforts elsewhere, like volunteering at a local
animal shelter. Because dogs and cats can find harmony easier than a
couple who realize very quickly they have nothing in common, but feel
they have to stick out at least a respectable portion of the evening
so they don’t the offend the mutual friend who fixed them up.)
For reluctant daters, there will be a slight hesitation when they
are first shown to their table, a pause that demonstrates an unwillingness
to sit down and plow through it. I’ve never witnessed anyone actually
bolt for the door, but I’ve seen a few make it clear about five minutes
into it that they wish they had.
Drinks at this table are also ordered at the first opportunity, as
is dinner. (This couple wants things to move fast.)When the drinks arrive,
the waiter will have barely set them down before each party lunges and
chugs them down like a beer at a frat party.
The Reading of the Menu is always a huge tip-off too. I have to admit
that I’ve been guilty of openly staring at my target couple during this
crucial phase. The importance of the menu cannot be underestimated.
During a good date, it’s usually a rich source of conversation, another
way to find out about each other; (“Oh my God, I can’t believe it,
you’re allergic to scallops? So am I!” or “I hate capers too!”) But
when there’s already a strained beginning to the evening, the menu
quickly becomes a physical shield to hide behind as each dater studies
it too intently for too long in a strenuous attempt to avoid
conversation. Neither one is happy to see the waiter reappear and only
reluctantly hand the menu back One particularly inventive (or
desperate) woman simply refused to relinquish hers and instead used it
as a fan, repeating while she flapped it, “Isn’t it warm in here?
Aren’t you hot? I can’t believe how hot I am!” effectively keeping her
date at bay.
Once the drink and menu lifelines are gone, the glass of water is
always the next go-to on the table. After that, shuffling of the
silverware, overly deliberate placement of the napkin in lap and an
intense interest in nearby artwork are also sure signs of things going
downhill. Awkward silences begin to occur with much more frequency and
often result in extended trips to the restrooms.
Of course, in this day and age, the ever present cell phone is the
Swiss Army knife for daters. The camera can be used to record a
photographic record of the evening to send out later as proof of the
good (“doesn’t she have awesome blue eyes?) or the bad (“can you
believe this loser wore this awful T-shirt? And I swear his haircut
looked like road kill had landed on his head!”). A fake rescue phone
call or text coming in from a trusted friend can end a disaster date
quickly (“what? Aunt Martha needs a kidney donor ASAP? I’m on my way
to the hospital now!”) Calls and texts are also made to issue updates
about the date as soon as one party is left at the table when the other
one runs to the bathroom, where another call or text is probably being
made.
If and when the woman excuses herself to go to the restroom, I’m a
little ashamed to admit that I’ve ditched my husband mid-sentence to
follow her. If she’s angrily combing her hair in the mirror, I want to
say soothingly “I know, I know, I can’t believe how long he’s been
talking about his ex-girlfriend either!” but I’ve yet to work up the
nerve to initiate any conversation that lets on that I’m observing her
date so closely. One memorable young woman just kept muttering the same
swear word over and over while she slapped on another coat of lip
gloss. My educated guess was that she liked her date more than he cared
for her, based on what I’d seen back at the table. I wanted to tell her
to stop trying so hard and knock off the annoying giggle after every
couple of sentences, but I didn’t. I still regret not trying to help
her out.
At an Italian restaurant in downtown Chicago one busy Saturday
night, a particularly brazen woman didn’t go to the bathroom, but instead
started rifling through her date’s jacket as soon as he did. When she
found his wallet in the pocket, she started to go through it while
calling someone on her cell at the same time, reporting on the guy’s
credit cards, amount of cash and other personal items. I was so
simultaneously fascinated and horrified by her behavior that when our
waiter returned to ask if I wanted another glass of wine I impatiently
waved him away without taking my eyes off of her. Just in the nick of
time before her date returned, she tucked the wallet back in his jacket
(I’m not going to lie, I kind of wanted her to get caught just to see
how her date would recover from that insight into his dinner companion,
the sisterhood of women be damned). Whatever she found in the wallet (a
black Amex? Big wad of cash?) must have impressed her mightily because
she became immediately much more attentive and adorable to her
unsuspecting date. I was dying to see how the evening ended with them,
but my uncooperative husband refused to wait it out with me, stating he
wanted to go to home and bed early since he had to catch a six am
flight to L.A. in the morning. I reluctantly left them cooing over
another bottle of wine, trying desperately to send a psychic message to
the guy about his date’s deceptive ways.
And then there’s dessert. This is no better gauge of how things
have gone and how they’re going to go for the rest of the night. When the
waiter utters the “would you like to hear about our dessert choices?”
to my couple, I’m on highest alert. If the couple confers over the
dessert tray and chooses to share the carrot cake, all has gone well.
But when both actually look horrified at the thought of sweating it out
any longer and decline as vehemently as if they’ve been offered a
saucer of arsenic, its game over. I’ll bet fifty bucks that half an
hour later they’ll both be at home in their pajamas in front of the
TV, separately.
I’m aware of the trying economic times we live in, but we’re
talking about budding romance here, you shouldn’t put a price on it) and requesting a
doggie bag is an instant mood breaker. Not only is it awkward to
carry the big white bag or molded aluminum foil swan out of the restaurant,
but the clear message is “I’m not thinking about a future with you, I’m
more concerned about what I’m going to have for lunch tomorrow.”
Of course I have no idea if any of the couples I’ve observed ended up
together or not. The one date that I witnessed could have been awful,
but maybe they were willing to give it another chance, and the second
one worked out much better. Or the wonderful date I saw (and had such
high hopes for) might have been a case of beginners’ luck and
subsequent ones were disastrous. And who knows if any one of them
glanced over at my husband and me and vowed to keep their exciting
dating life going instead of ending up a boring old married couple like
us?
I’d tell everyone looking for love to put the cell phones away
during dinner and really concentrate on who is sitting across the table from
you. He or she might just utter the very words that you’ve always
longed to hear a significant other say and it would be a shame to miss
them because you’re busy texting “can’t believe how short he is!” or
“she reminds me too much of my ex.”
Everyone begins a date with some degree of hopefulness—otherwise,
why would they bother to go in the first place? There’s always the risk
that the date is going to turn out to be a catastrophe, but there’s
also always the chance that it will be the start of something
wonderful. Either way, a dinner date only lasts a couple of hours,
unlike a Colonial American ritual I recently read about, known as
bundling: A courting couple would spend the night together in the same
bed to “ensure compatibility.” And consider this: “Sometimes, the girl
wore a sack that was enclosed with a slip knot at the bottom and tied
with a drawstring at the waist. If a parent had anxiety about the
situation, the sack could be sewn shut.”
Think of how hard it would be to escape a lousy eighteenth century
bundling date, trying to run to the bathroom wearing that thing.
(Sorry, I meant the colonial version of fleeing to the bathroom—which I
guess would be, er, hiding out on the chamber pot?) Maybe dating in
these contemporary times with a little texting and toting home a doggie
bag isn’t so bad after all.