Dates For Life

His name! Another crack in his crumbling line of defences, and certainly the most commonly exposed one in his interactions with other people. The number of times that he had to reveal his true identity were far too numerous for his liking. As vulnerable as this made him feel, the innocent had, long ago, concluded that he should not resent the world for afflicting him thus. For what person, with the intention of talking to someone in a friendly and civil way, would not inquire as to their name? Conversation is able to ascend to another level once those involved have divulged their first names. This transmission from anonymous strangers, who with soulless words communicate only the most superfluous or essential messages, to verified persons, presumably with backstories and depth, is absolutely necessary in order to begin any kind of sustainable relationship. It were not as if he had not had to give out his name before, as the very notion of never being asked to identify yourself is absurd, in a world where people are simply their personal details. The current protagonist was not even entirely certain that his name was ridiculous. It is not entirely clear why he dislikes his name so, however it could be speculated that he considers himself ridiculous. Therefore, in the same way that someone who hears the name ‘Bongo the clown’, will expect mirth and a comic lack of self-respect, he imagines that someone who hears his name, will automatically know that he is not one to be taken seriously, unless his performance is so lacking in humour that it provokes pity (which he strangely preferred over laughter, as it made him feel safe). The problem was then, not that he disliked giving out his name in general, but that he felt that his chance of scoring high with the woman he sat opposite to would probably be massively reduced when she discovered his name. Whilst this concerned him, it is also possible that he was obsessing over this minute detail to avoid confronting the fact that he hadn’t ‘scored high’ with anyone ever and that it was perhaps his awful personality, and his unsightly physique, that would really undermine his efforts to entice his speed dating partner to have sex with him.  

He cast his beady eyes upon her, and saw her as the genesis of his despair. All he could divine of her, or what indeed his perpetual fear and consequent cynicism of everything convinced him that he knew, was that she was a woman who had the quality of brashness. Her features appeared to him hard and dark, and contained a beauty that was unique if nothing else. Our man also noted, with hopefulness, that time had begun to take away the gifts that it had bequeathed to this woman. The cruel process of ageing was perhaps his only ally in the field of romance, as the pain of watching oneself die, day by day, would make the idea of lying with such a wretch as he almost bearable. The man saw Lines were traced across the skin of her face, to him inexplicably, as strange as a pattern which appears in a field by the flattening of some crop, to the surprise and alarm of all who see it. The focal point of this narrative is a character in his late twenties, and signs of age and decay in his own face, and the faces of others, whom could perhaps be considered of his ilk, in age at least, still surprised him. However, observing the modest wrinkles in what was otherwise a perfectly feasible opportunity for a shag, simply distracted his attention from his main problem. That  He believed, although having only posed to him one question, entirely commonplace in nature, this creature, so opposite to him in gender and, as he had now decided, in personality, would be capable of entirely dismissing him out of hand upon learning his name. He is a feeble man, base in his intentions, always having lacked the charm and the self-confidence to achieve his goal. This internal contradiction of desire vs incompetence had driven him here.

Although she had asked “what is your name?” the woman could not be accused of malevolence in any respect, and at the worst the question had a slight undertone of apathy and detachment. However, for the man the attack had been made, and the conflict had begun. In the unfortunately long time in which he took to reply, he was already anticipating her response to his name, and all possible forms of defence that he could employ. So be it, he thought, for conflict is as inevitable as the day and night. Since man first stalked the Earth he has sought nothing but the destruction of his neighbour to heal the wound of his own mortality. Throughout the great history of the world humankind had hurled great destruction upon each other for conquest and glory, the only difference between his plight and that of a Viking in a wall of shields, was that words were the weapons employed in his day and age. O, to have a name! It was a cruel social trick, another criterion to weed the weak elements out from the company of the strong. As the seconds passed by he created a mental world in which every human had one name, any criticism of which would be fatally undermined by its absolute universality. In such a world, the man might find peace. In this world, he spoke, as he was resolved to endure pain in order to embrace the present, and claimed boldly, “my name is not important”. Though this answer to his problems entailed its own unique, and vastly different set of problems, the illusion that he may still be a normal person, with a normal name, had been preserved to some extent.

The woman observed him, and marked his words, for though they were few in number, they were spoken with a determination which merited momentary interest. She considered that this outlandish reaction, in the face of the most mundane social protocol, may be the result of some inward conflict which raged inside the mind of the man who stood before her. At this point the woman again assessed his physical merits, and again concluded that they were in absence. His frame was small and frail, and although he had not yet the vast and flabby landscape of a man who has entirely accepted defeat in regards to their personal health, he did sport a protrusion from his stomach, which appeared to be struggling to break free of his body altogether, such was its robustness and shape. His surroundings did much to complement him, however, for he was situated amongst a crowd of, what could have possibly been considered, the most painfully unimpressive collection of human beings ever assembled. This fateful exchange was taking place in the expansive innards of a large sports hall which was, in the day to day running of things, for the use of school children between the ages of eleven and eighteen. Today, however, the hall had been converted into the sight of an event called ‘Dating for life’, which was hosted by the local welfare association of a small town, presumably somewhere in England. The intentional message of the event name ‘Dating for life’, one hoped to imagine, was that the dates which one would perhaps derive, from this complex mosaic of characters, would become partners which had the potential to remain loyal and sporting for the rest of their life and yours. In spite of this, the woman was beginning to believe that the architects of this shambolic speed dating scenario were actually of the opinion that those who attended were possible candidates for a lifetime membership to ‘Dates for life’, and that their very presence actually hindered their possibility of escaping from the dreary setting of this sports hall, as they would undoubtedly have to return, after having been disappointed and appalled by the quality of their date under closer inspection.

Although it has previously been stated that the man was standing, the woman could not understand why it was that he was doing this. A small school desk had been set out, amongst many others just like it, with a chair on either side, and two notepads with pencils provided. The notepads and pencils had never been explained in the short introductory talk, in which the organisers had thanked everyone for their attendance, unleashed several well intentioned puns (which toyed mercilessly with the phrase ‘Dates for Life’), and delivered a surprise Eulogy for someone whom no-one had knew, but who had apparently died. Despite being unable to truly know why it was that writing implements had been strategically placed on every table, the woman was  willing to justify them as tools to formulate constructive analysis of your potential date, and perhaps even a small amount of self analysis (for the less workshy speed-dater). Again, it must be emphasized that, although every other member of the group had taken a seat opposite their temporary love interest, the man continued to stand, hostile and suspicious, willing to be present but unwilling to submit himself to such vulnerability as sitting before this woman would afford him. She placed one elbow on to the table, and rested her cheek bone upon her fist, in a way that would allow her to acknowledge the fact that she was conceding to the possibility that this man was perhaps the least likely to be able to bring her to orgasm that she had, up until this point, ever encountered in her natural life. What she would have given to have had that knowledge be even slightly more significant! For looking around the room she knew all too well that to say this man was the worst, was not saying too much at all. As her eyes darted around the other couples, she observed no happiness, only desperation, and bleakness in the eyes and souls of all whom she gaze upon. What hope had she amongst them, the inhabitants of society’s lowest echelon? Failures all! Mere castaways from the most ancient and sacred tradition of human courting rituals that has ever existed. The only premise for their collective presence was to continue to produce sub-average human beings to occupy and control the very bottom of the barrel, subsequently pushing those above them safely beyond the putrid waters in which they resided, like the body of a fallen soldier acting as a raft for his comrade over a muddy sea on the fields of Passchendaele.

She concluded, the for the crime of being in the gymnasium of the damned, at the specific time in which this wide scale façade of human interaction was being perpetrated, the people surrounding her deserved both her hatred and her contempt. What then was she? She considered this bitterly and without humour. Surely she too was a member of the dating world’s proletariat, performing the tasks which were too demeaning for the sexually successful, and the flawlessly beautiful. In that respect this man, this tensed up product of, what she could only assume, was an altogether fucked up childhood, was not only up to her standards, but was actually what she was expected to allow to storm the citadel of her womanhood. It could not be, or rather, she could not let it be so. Regardless of what little the past may have availed her, the future was a blank slate, there was hope to be found in its uncertainty. Unlike the ramrod bottom feeder which regarded her, as a man may do a wild animal, in anticipation of its attack, but in hope of its retreat, she believed that there was a host of promiscuous and promising sexual partners that she could one day meet and share her heart with. Unlike the man, the woman had a name, and knew its import, and as long as she knew this, ‘Dates for Life’ could never have her soul.