So, you know Tinder?
If you don’t, you’re probably lucky.
It’s like the next generation of online dating, ish.
It’s a bit addictive.
You’re shown lots of boys (or girls); you ‘swipe’ yes or no to them. If you both say yes to each other, you can chat. And so on and so forth.
So the instant advantage is you know if someone’s interested (allegedly).
The instant disadvantage is you know next to nothing else about them.
Here are some examples of what tinder has to offer:
I hadn’t actually met up with anyone off of tinder.
I’d matched with some, got chatting to some, dismissed many for crimes such as introducing themselves as “am Gary” rather than “I’m Gary”, overuse of “lol”, underuse of punctuation, complete misuse of apostrophes/grammar in general, attempting to send/request pictures of genitalia. The list goes on. And on. And ON.
Recently I got chatting to one who seemed to have potential.
He had just the right amount of facial hair. (I think it’s a sign I’m getting older, that I’m developing a strong appreciation for beards. Neatly trimmed beards. I’m reluctant to label them hipster beards, but hipster beards they may be.)
He played the guitar and sang. (I need to go into some sort of guitarboy rehab. They are not healthy. Ever. If any guitarboys want to prove me wrong on this…see, there I go again. It’s a real problem.)
He was funny, confident, he had good chat.
Then he randomly appeared in the pub when I was out with my friends. And it all got a bit weird.
Firstly, he was a lot less cute. I had my beer goggles (well, gin goggles) on, and he was still a lot less cute.
Secondly, he didn’t have much chat – he just kept repeating that he was shy, nervous and very, very drunk.
Thirdly, he just randomly appeared. In case we missed that point. I don’t mean it was a random coincidence, I mean I mentioned where we were, for the purpose of polite conversation, and then he was there.
It was horrifically awkward. By the time he arrived, there was just me and one friend left of our group. He made no attempt to speak to my friend, and asked me when she was planning to “fuck off” (soz for the language, it’s a direct quote).
So we (my friend and I, not Guitar Boy and I) did the only thing we could.
We planned our escape.
He went out for a smoke. We ran away.
(I even had a crisis of conscience where I asked a couple at the bar – who were clearly not interested in anything other than each others’ tonsils and questionable dance moves – to watch his bag. Yeah, he left his bag. It’s like he knew what we were planning.)
Unfortunately, he re-appeared just as we were pulling our coats on.
We ran anyway.
Am I a terrible person? Perhaps.
Is Tinder a terrible invention? Perhaps.
Can I sue Tinder and/or Guitar Boy for false advertising? Sadly, probably not.
Will I keep swiping? Sadly, probably.
I told you: it’s addictive.
