Baiting & Tackling: Fish Dude

The world is full of signs - subtle, precautionary, and those which are obvious and impossible to miss. And yet, when entering dating territory, many ignore all signs.  We trespass dangerously into areas clearly marked: “Stay Out,” hoping the sign is old and no longer applies.

Number 3, the hunter-gatherer-fish person, came with virtual signs posted everywhere.  Not danger, but something along the lines: “No Trespassing – I’d Turn Back if I Were You.”

His profile photos depicted him with, yes, man’s best friend, fish.  Him holding one, standing near one, catching one, and then of course the pièce de résistance, the one of him donned in that foxy cammo gear outfit with his lovely dog (truly) and some dead birds on the back of a truck. 

These signs should have been obvious.  I don’t eat much fish and have fished maybe twice in my life with my kids’ Boy Scout troop.  (Truth be told, I make myself eat fish once a week for health reasons and mostly don’t enjoy it.)  I don’t like guns or hunting.  I want to buy my food prepackaged and not think about how it made it to the shelves of Safeway or Costco.

But, while boarding a plane for a month-long trip, fishmonger, #3, shows up on my phone in United Terminal Three at SFO. 

He’s funny and sarcastic, two of my favorites.

The Alabama Department of Tourism announced today a 500% increase in tourism in just the last month.  Yes, the Cotton State and the Heart of Dixie is now a real tourist destination thanks to Chief Justice Tom Parker and the Alabama Supreme Court.  You see, all those frozen embryos, from other states are now tourists.  We now have a viable economy.  We will develop embryo hotels, parks, restaurants and venues.

Pretty hilarious.  He’s smart, sarcastic, articulate and writes a great text.  The man could have a side hustle with Colbert and the texts get better as my trip progresses. He sends funny political parody, ‘Good Morning’ memes, and occasional weather updates, which are very useful. Every. Single. Day.

It was like a subscription service I had accidentally signed up for via text message, which as we know from our mobile carriers, can possibly result in network fees. 

Did I unsubscribe at any point?  Of course not. Like a good Cod, I got hooked. 

I do, at one point, actually say to him:

Hey, so you hunt and fish and do guy stuff.  Assuming you have people to do that with, right?  Cause if I’m honest, my idea of camping is staying at a Marriott. Kidding sort of….

And he responds:

I herd of Marriott, is that one of those…ah..hotels?

Touche. The guy is funny.

So am I.

Those places called Marriott do all the hunting and gathering for you.  Those places even bring the food to your door on a tray and you can eat in bed if you want. More time for other activities this way.  It’s remarkable, really.  And they also give you points which can be saved and used for other stuff later.  Imagine that? 

And he casts the next line.  

Sounds like fun. When are you coming home?

I’m hooked; flailing at the end of my line, fighting for my ground to stay in my native habitat and not be pulled out of safe, comfortable water.

He literally and figuratively is an expert fisherperson.  He made a career of this and as I fought to not go into deep waters with this man he continued to apply steady pressure with funny, flirty texts.  He knows his business.  Fishing experts do advise:

Keep your stance wide and continue reeling in your line when you're chasing a fighter. As you continue to fight your fish, keep steady pressure on the rod to help wear down the fish. It's alright to lift or pump your rod during the fight, but don't jerk on it because that can cause your fish to come off the line.

As I continue to try to wrap my head around what it is about this guy that I’m even remotely attracted to other than a lack of male attention, I have become totally hooked.  I cast a longish text, hoping to learn more about him that doesn’t resemble something from the pages of Field and Stream.

While Volaris airlines had my life in its hands, I looked at your profile again because I was curious about this hunter-gatherer, left-leaning man I’ve been texting with for a minute (actually 10 days) who sends me very funny political quips, Warrior scores and random pics of toilets in medical offices – all of which have been making me laugh.  I discover that he went to same undergrad college as me.  And, though I am admittedly so so much older than this guy, it occurs to me that he may have been on that campus at the same time as me many years ago and was an English major. Explains the clever writing but I suspect he may have ended up doing something else in life or has an unfinished novel in a drawer somewhere like the rest of us recovering writers. He certainly has strong opinions about a lot of stuff, especially politics and appears to be smart, very well read and probably doesn’t do anything half-assed which I find intriguing and wonder if I have any of this right?  Hoping to learn more while in Costa Rica with very iffy wi-fi. 

I receive no real legitimate direct response to any of this.  Only a text which asks me how old I am because he must have been triggered by the, “I’m so, so much older than him…” line.

We had already established that we were born in the same year and I’m eight weeks older so I remind him of this.

He writes:

You are a cougar.

And I write:

You are probably a handful, aren’t you?

Called that one.

The texting continues on for days. Stories of my travel, his fishing and hunting and eventually pivots to some mild, flirting – fun and silly. Three weeks in, we begin to exchange facts about what I call our ‘origin stories’ – marriage, kids, work. etc.  He feigns mild interest in any of my life details, which of course, is a sign I ignore.

I’m still overlooking we truly don’t have much in common.

More photos are exchanged; I’m getting into this guy.  We plan a meeting for when I return.

And then it happens. 

He disappears.

Me:

Good morning, I’m thinking you’re in Mutual of Ohama’s Wild Kingdom somewhere, or a fish has consumed your phone.  I’m heading out for a four-hour bus ride back to the capital, San Jose. Hope you had a great weekend.

Three days later:

Good morning, did you disappear forever or just a while?

Radio silence. He’s gone. Clearly, I have no fishing skills and did not hold my stance steady and reel in my line.

I spend the next week of my trip wondering why someone would spend 24 days texting someone who is away on an extended trip and then blow them off the week before they return?  These are unknowable things in the world of online dating.  Maybe he really just wanted a pen pal, someone to flirt with and his fantasy of me was better than any real encounter? He met someone else?

Under any of these possibles scenarios, I’ve been eclipsed. 

It's disappointing.  I don’t understand and feel stupid and embarrassed that I built this up into something.  I ruminate on the exchanges and acknowledge that I will never, ever understand this or why this happened.  I ask why are people so mean?  I chastise myself for losing my cerebral navigation again, letting my frontal cortex melt down into a virtual Chernobyl.

I recover in a few days.  Try to assemble lessons learned, signs missed, and slowly stop wondering why, and if, I’ll ever hear from him again. I’m back home and out of the lovely travel bubble, doing laundry, yard work and grocery shopping, missing my world-wandering self.

Eighteen days after the last text I received from him, which actually coincided with the day of the earth’s eclipse, guess who comes up for air from the ocean of dating?  Fish dude.  A real fish can spend its entire life in water; mine took 18 days to ascend. 

Fish have now become very relatable to me. I understand bait and lure and catch and release and how those words translate to relationships, attraction and love. 

When Fish Dude jumps back up, I am now presented with a predicament.  Do I respond, ignore or block him completely, a move that someone who is higher functioning than me would have actually done 18 days ago anyway.

I write back:

Where ya been?

He responds:

I’ve been around just been busy.  We can meet for a drink later if you want.

I should be mad, and punish him for what he did - for ghosting me for so long and not even apologizing or offering any explanation.  And yet, I’m so curious, and possibly desperate, I say yes and instantly begin to question and regret this decision.

A friend is consulted.  She’s skews conservative on all this dating stuff.  Thinks it’s pretty crazy and yet, offers advice to give the guy “one chance.” 

“You’ve got nothing better to do tonight and yes, you have to wash your hair today, but you would have had to do it tomorrow.  It’s just one day earlier.” 

This ‘resounding’ endorsement and wise advice coming from her, steadies me and boosts my confidence that I’ve made the right decision.

I arrive to the restaurant, (the word restaurant is a loose description of this dive place) park the car and notice him at the front door trying to tuck in what looks like a pretty nasty T-shirt.

Heavy sigh.  Damn.

I find him inside and yes, indeed, the shirt had holes down the right side. He is wearing a dirty baseball cap from the very expensive, private college his daughter attends. He has a decent face, but is clearly heavier than his photos and couldn’t have cared to groom himself before our meeting. I wonder if he’s showered.  I’m not going to get close enough to know this.

For the next 45 minutes I desperately work my side of the table to keep a conversation going. He was such a great texter - so articulate and engaged.  I begin to wonder if he’s on the spectrum because socially, with me, he is clearly impaired.

We finish our drinks and he looks at me and says, “now what?”  And I’m thinking I cannot have another drink with this man.  I don’t have the energy to do another 45 minutes of trying to have a conversation with myself.

But I say, “What, do you want another drink?”

And he says, “No, I mean what are we doing?” 

This is the most engaged he has been since we sat down.  He’s coming to life at the end of our encounter.

I’m still clueless and he says, “What are you looking for?”

Big eye roll from me.

He says, “Well, you don’t have to tell me.”  I say,” No, it’s fine. I talk about everything.”

And off I fly to fairy-princess-fantasy-land and tell him in my most sincere voice, “Well, I’m looking for a companion. For someone to date, do stuff with. I’m not into marriage. I don’t want to move in with anybody.”

He looks at me nods his head and says, “OK.”

And then, I reciprocate and ask him the same question, “What are you looking for?”

He makes direct and intense eye contact (one of the first times of the evening) and with a solicitous grin says, “Friends with benefits.”

I burst into laughter. He locks his stare.

Now I’m slightly flustered from the unanticipated answer and I say, “Well, that’s not really what I’m looking for but I really do want to understand this because it doesn’t make sense to me. If we are friends and we are having sex, then isn’t that dating, I mean….?”

He quickly interrupts me and says, “Oh no, we are not dating.  I’ll explain it to you.”

There are children at the next table having dinner with their mother and I’m wondering how she will address the trauma of this conversation with them later.

He says, “You just get together and you have sex.”

I say, “I see. Well, are you sleeping with other people too?”

And he says, “No, it’s exclusive. We just do this until we find our real person.”

I’m laughing again and thinking this is one of the most offensive, absurd conversations I’ve had in years.

But I am on a roll now and feel like I’m going to push this with him.  I do my sassy girl head bob and point a finger at him and say, “Well, how do you know that I’m not your real person?”

He looks directly in my eyes and in a clear, unmodulated, unequivocal voice says, “Oh, no, you’re not.  I knew that right away.”

Jeeze.  Ego blow.

My self-esteem is tanking now.  I’m trying to get my jacket on as he begins to upsell me on this concept.

“Well, it could be great and you know. We’re getting older, and you never know how much time you have left and how long you could keep doing it (sic: they have pills for this #3) and sex is really good for you.”

I am laughing.  It’s not nervous laughing. It’s laughing at the absurdity of this moment and this man and me in this situation.

I say, “You know #3 I actually have to feel something for someone to do that and I really don’t want to get into a situation where my mind gets wrapped around this and I don’t want to be hurt.”

Fish dude finally lets go of the line and says, “Okay.”  

My jacket is on and I’m standing up when he casts out his last-ditch effort like a fly fisherman waiting for the fly to hatch (yes, I had to look that up) leans into the table, looks deeply into my eyes and says, “Well, you know, I live five minutes from here and my hot tub is on and nice and warm.”

Oh, for Christ’s sake.  Am I in an SNL skit?  Where is Will Farrell and Kristen Wiig?

I laugh and say, “Well, as attractive of an offer as that is, I think I’m going to have to take a pass, but will keep your number in case I change my mind.  And, I wish you all the best on your journey.”

IF this wasn’t so funny, it would be creepy.

We get to the parking lot and he asks me for a hug.  “Okay, fine,” I say and think later, grateful he didn’t grab any part of my body.

I call my friend on the way home and we laugh hysterically as I relay the meeting.

I did catch a glimpse of him on the way out of the parking lot that made me a little sad and wonder if all of this was a big disappointment to him as well.  I think he thought it was possible that he had found someone to have sex with under his conditions. I know people do this and some are successful at bifurcating love and sex.  For me, this arrangement is a bipolar solution, a much too complex set of circumstances that would likely set me up for a lot of heartache and confusion.   

I do give him credit for putting his cards on the table in an honest way.  He didn’t play me, get me to bed and tell me this later as my youngest son pointed out when I told him about this encounter.  He says, “This poor dude has no game.”

Yep, I say, “Zero self-awareness of his physical impact or why he keeps attracting female Trump supporters when all his photos are with fish and guns.”

I actually find his approach oddly admirable, in retrospective.

Maybe he’ll find some other fish who wants to bait and tackle with him, or maybe his trout will stay limp.  This one’s getting dumped back in the sea.

As I judge him harshly, I do also fully accept blame for my lack of self-awareness and getting caught in a line that should have been cut a lot sooner.

The ethereal text message world is a comfortable space to play out a fantasy and completely ignore all signs. It’s very easy to get baited, lured and hooked as I learned with Fish dude. And, once again, I was easily caught.

On the plus side, I did learn a bit about fishing. 

And not Catfishing, which is an entirely other level of online dating that is far more complicated and dangerous. And, for another time.