The man generally waits a few days before he calls her—desperation and over eagerness are only appropriate when watching football. When he finally calls, if she knows his number, she will answer the call with a questioning “Hello” as if it could be any number of people calling her, and he will play it cool.
The first call generally covers a wide range of topics as a means to establish commonalities, unveil discrete differences, and determine if going on a date is of mutual interest. Once in a while, if you’re really lucky, an initial phone call becomes a great blog story.
* * *
When “John” called me, I didn’t realize I should have taken a Xanax and seen my therapist first. John was a regular business man—not into mergers and acquisitions, not a lawyer or claims adjuster, wasn’t a detective or the host of Jeopardy—just a simple manager of something somewhere that clearly didn’t involve interpersonal skills.
John’s way of determining if I was a prospective date or not was as subtle as waterboarding. He began with innocuous questions about where I went to college, where my family is from, and what exactly I did for a living. To my every answer, he’d reply “uh huh, and uh…” and then he’d swiftly launch into the next question.
After fessing up to the foods I like versus the foods I don’t like (and why), animals I have as pets, and where I went on my last vacation, he sideswiped me with a “So, you’re divorced? What happened? Tell me about that.”
That was it for me. I felt like a stranger was snooping through my apartment, and I let the damned person in! So I stepped up and asked him if he was reading off a list or something.
He confessed that he was!
I explained to him that most of these questions would be answered as people got to know each other, and that his zinger question about my sexuality—well, that was something very inappropriate and none of his business. He tried to pin me with a “so you’ve got something to hide,” and I laughed at him and told him that I definitely have not, but that any woman who gave him a number was lying anyway. This surprised him.
He tried to go down this new road of me explaining why a woman would lie when answering this question, but I was done humoring both his curiosity and his tactlessness. As he was taking a breath to, I assume, regroup and continue down his list, I dismissed his script and said something to the effect of:
“Look, you’ve asked me more questions than I’ve ever been asked during a job interview. I understand this may be your technique of choice, but it’s very off putting. You’re obviously an intelligent man who knows what he wants, but you risk turning off an intelligent woman that is sincere. I’ve politely answered your myriad of questions for two hours, which hasn’t been either pleasant or engaging for me. You can do whatever you want the next time you pursue your interest in a woman who’s put herself out there, but I truly hope you take this to heart and reexamine your approach. First phone calls should be fun, light, and interesting, not stressful and interrogative.”
After my monologue, I wished him the best and made it clear that even though he told me nothing about himself, I knew he wasn’t my type.
* * *
You have to expect a certain number of probing questions during an initial phone call, but there’s a point where I can’t even tell where a guy’s trying to go. Is he profiling me? Is he baiting me?
A few months ago, I had a First Phone Call experience with a financial analyst. Until then, I knew him as intelligent and personable. I was nearing the end of a very tedious night class, so giving anyone my precious, limited free time was a big deal. I took a break from homework to take his call.
It started out with banal questions like why I’m taking a class, where I went for my undergrad, and this and that. Then all of a sudden at 11 p.m. when my brain wasn’t at its peak performance, he asks me the weirdest question: “If you were on a desert island, would you eat your dog?”
Me: “Would I what?”
Him: “Would you eat your dog?”
Him: “See, I don’t understand that. Why wouldn’t you eat a dog? You’re starving and you have no food. You need to eat something. Your dog would eat you.”
Me: “My dog wouldn’t eat me.”
Him: “Yes, it would.”
Me: “If I were dead, I wouldn’t care if my dog ate me. I’m dead.”
Him: “But you’re STARVING.”
Me: “I’d eat tree bark before I’d ever eat a dog. I don’t even eat beef.”
He was hell-bent on convincing me that I should eat my dog, and well, he obviously hadn’t met me.
I explained to him that human beings are more evolved than other animals, and that eating your one and only companion on an island would be psychologically detrimental. I also assured him that at no time in my future would I ever be faced with the dilemma of whether or not I should eat my dog while stranded on a desert island.
Internal dialog: What ever happened to “What’s your sign?”
Me: “Uh, well, I’m adopted, so I’m in favor of it.”
Him: “Well, I don’t believe in it.”
Me: “It’s not like Santa Claus. ‘Disbelief’ isn’t an option.”
He wanted me to take a stance and debate this issue with him. At 11 at night. After hours of inorganic chemistry homework. On a first phone call. After trying to convince me I should eat a house pet.
I told him that I simply didn’t care to debate; it’s not something I do. He couldn’t understand how I don’t care what other people think. His process was to try and bring others around to his way of thinking. He thought it was shameful that I didn’t try and “enlighten” others. First, who am I to try and influence other people? I told him that everyone has their own path, and that it’s not up to me to try and enlighten them. Most people need to learn things on their own. As long as no one pees in my popcorn, it’s all good.
Suffice it to say he rambled around and around like a burglar casing a joint. He thought he was a brilliant philosopher, but he was simply a narrow-minded, linearly thinking, bigmouthed know-it-all.
The next day, he sent me a text saying how he loved talking to me (?), and he thought we had a lot in common, so he’d like to take me out.
I remember putting down my phone and looking at my cat sleeping in my backpack on the chair next to me. I cupped her puffy, tabby face in my hands, looked into her wide, loving eyes, and reassured her that not now, not ever would I eat her. I promised.
What’s more, I was ok with the fact that it was going to still be just her and me on this island for a while longer. I just wish I didn’t have to fight off so many monkeys.
