Page 42 of The App Trap
“Definitely.”
“She’s terrified of leaving you, you know, if you know what I…”
“Yeah, I know.”
“She just wants to make sure you're happy if that time should ever come. She was telling me that you were doing a lot of online dating, and as much as she would love to see you with someone, she’s scared you’re just going to settle for someone just for her. She’d rather you were happy and on your own than trapped with someone that’s not right. Don't just settle for anyone. Christ knows, I’ve been there. Iamthere. And don’t do it for your mother. Do it for yourself. She told me about your father and how he had to live a lie because of the pressure from his parents. It’s only because of your mother that he had the freedom to be who he wanted. He could be openly gay and he was happy beforehe went. And you all loved him because your mother taught you that acceptance. She’s a wonderful woman, Danny.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I paused awkwardly. “Listen. Thanks for the weed.”
He looked sheepishly at the floor.
“And the talk. I really appreciate it,” I added.
He smiled at me somehow with just his eyes, and the way his thick crow’s feet became prominent showed that I’d made a new friend. He was a good guy. He was one of those guys that you immediately liked, because they look like good guys, and they clearly wanted you to win.
I cut the conversation short, because when he brought up Dad, it made me a bit teary. He’d been gone over five years now, but I still missed him. He simply radiated happiness, and we all loved him for that. Happiness that had been bottled up for most of his life then released like an uncorked bottle of vigorously shaken champagne. That last analogy wasn’t meant to sound like a euphemism, by the way. Okay, maybe a bit.
I shook Wes’s incredibly tanned hand and said goodbye to Mum. Wes tilted his hat brim at me as I left. He was one cool mo’fo’. Maybe literally, the jury was certainly out on that. Anyway, it was time for me to go back and tart myself up for tonight.
I was in a great mood after my conversation with Wes. He spoke a lot of sense. The trouble with this online dating lark was that after a while, you just go through the motions with it. You date for the sake of dating, and when you keep having disaster after disaster, you get frustrated and depressed about it. So, what do you do? You find someone else, then someone else, becoming absorbed into this ‘numbers game’ mentality. You end up putting so much pressureon yourself to find somebody that you siphon every drop of fun and joy out of the whole dating process.
So, I thought it was about time to enjoy the whole thing from now on. It was time to start having fun. Well, evenmorefun.
The ‘single’s party’ was a brand-new experience for me, and I was really looking forward to it. By now, I had become one of the most prolific serial online daters in my weight class in the Greater London area, and there was a likelihood that many faces on that minibus would recognise me from my online presence.
This was a chance to exercise my skills in the real world and not hide behind a touchscreen. It was actually terrifying. I hadn’t been out anywhere specifically to chat to guys for ages. There was no need to these days. Online dating had made me incredibly lazy because it was just too easy to strike up a conversation from nothing. Why the hell would I make the effort chatting someone up in a bar or club and risk making a prize plum of myself when I could just swipe my way through a few apps?
Midday, the minibus left from Finsbury Park station. I was slightly fearful of the place because of my last experience in this neighbourhood with the manic Art. I dove into the minibus as quickly as I could, and there was Ben sitting at the back of the bus with a couple of other people, waving me over to join them.
“All right, duderinos?” I said, causing him to frown in what looked like embarrassment.
Ben introduced me to his friends. I didn't actually fancy any of them, which instantly made me regret my decision to blow Harry out.
We stopped at Pease Pottage services, which wasactually one of my least favourite service stations as it goes. Yes, I rank service stations… sad, but true.
Everyone unsheathed their phones and started to check out the lay of the land for matches—in a service station of all places. I would have added the word ‘unbelievably’, but I myself joined in. Well, you never know. Love was supposed to strike in the most unexpected of places, and the Pease Pottage Greggs couldn't be ruled out of this equation. Actually, scrub that.
We arrived in good time for the party. It had a strange vibe about it. It was full of all sorts of people. There were groups, lone soldiers and duos casing the joint for totty. Everyone was checking each other out.
I liked the vibe, though. At this party, the risk of a Category ‘A’ blowout was significantly reduced, if not erased.
The 'Category ‘A’ blowout' was of course the subtle dropping in of the word ‘boyfriend’ to the conversation, which usually happened within the first two minutes of chatting a person up who blatantly didn’t fancy you. As this was a venue that was catering purely for singlets, the place was more relaxed, and people were taking the time to scope each other out, peering over the rims of their 2-for-1 cocktail glasses.
I went to the bar and ordered two sexually-themed cocktails that were mixed from some pre-prepared coloured liquid from a white plastic container. Eesh.
There was a lot going on in here. At the entrance, there was a photo call where everyone had to have their picture taken. Each photo was mounted in a plastic wallet and put up on a kind of hall of fame, ready for people to put ‘flirt cards’ in if they fancied you. I made sure that my chin was positioned at the perfect elevation for a decent snap, to hideany trace of excess chin wobble or thick neck that may or may not be present.
Next, we were encouraged to sign up for a speed-dating session. We wisely went for the session in the middle of the evening. There was logic to this. We didn't want to go to the early session because nobody would be drunk at that point. The middle session ensured that people would be slightly more inebriated, and thus flirtier. That way, you’d walk away from it having acquainted yourself with a larger group of people. These would become your back-ups if all else failed. That was of course providing you hadn’t pissed them off during the speed-date.
We queued up for our speed-dating session. I felt slightly short-changed as Ben and his friends I didn’t fancy would possibly make up a fair few of my dates.
As luck would have it, there were three different sections, and a bit of simple maths ensured that if we were all dotted out in different areas, then we would avoid each other.
However, each date ranged from rubbish to even worse. I’d been speaking to one of Ben’s friends on the minibus and he was one date in front of me, taking a bullet every time. He was able to give me a warning for what was in store with the aid of a bit of eye-contact and a couple of raised eyebrows. It was a good system––for me anyway.
The first guy I spoke to didn't look at me once and did a strange, whistling laugh through the gap in his teeth at everything I said.
