Yes, I like Pina Coladas

On my daily work trek past the newspaper office, I saw a sign for Lonely Hearts’ personal ads. It’s called a personal ad, but to me it seemed so impersonal. You placed an anonymous ad, with no picture, for what you wanted in a mate or a date. They gave you a blind message voice mailbox without a name, just a number. People answering the ad would leave messages and you could decide if you wanted to call them back.

The whole idea seemed horrible and intimidating. What if no one answered your ad? Or what if the wrong men called and I would have to hassle with lousy blind dates? So, I dismissed it.

But every day after that, I walked by the sign and that old song played in my head; the one where two people corresponded in a personal ad and wrote about their likes and dislikes …The Pina Colada Song.

I debated it in my head for weeks with the same argument. The awful blind dates. The phone calls which went nowhere. It seemed hopeless. And I asked myself who puts an ad in the paper anyway?

The answer was someone like me.

I really hated meeting people at bars. It was too much stress. I always felt I was on display, like a dress in a store window for everyone to walk by, look at and decide if they wanted.

Plus, it was always so loud, even if you met someone, you couldn’t really talk. Maybe that was ok in my 20’s, but not now.

So, one day, I walked past the newspaper office and found myself going in. I really don’t know what possessed me, but I placed an ad. I barely even knew what I wrote. And I definitely didn’t tell anyone I placed a personal ad. I think it was just an urge, grown from absolute frustration.

The morning the ad came out, I hurriedly grabbed the newspaper off the porch and looked it up. The anticipation was almost like Christmas morning. I had to wade through a sea of ads to find mine. It read…

“Single 30’s, looking for single man to have a good conversation and spend time with.”

Compared to the rest of the ads, it was boring. It was like getting socks and fruit for Christmas instead of toys and candy. I was deflated. I was sure no one would answer it. But then again, I thought maybe it was the right bait to get the right man to answer. I dreaded a string of horrible blind dates with men who were too this or that. Too sad, too full of themselves, too weird, or just not the right fit for me.

Then I had a depressing thought, what if men I already went out with left messages? After all, in a small town, there’s a finite pool of singles. With that worrying thought in the back of my head, I pressed on. I only needed one man, the right man.

The first day the ad was placed, I checked the voice mailbox about 10 times. I couldn’t wait to see who answered the ad, but each time I dialed, I feared what I would hear. I hung up a few times, thinking I was being silly and stupid. It was a rollercoaster of elation and self-deprecation all at the same time. But I promised myself I wouldn’t call anyone back right away. I didn’t want to seem too eager and wanted to carefully consider my choices before I went on dates.

The first day, nothing came in until after work. I probably called and heard the “you have no messages” voice 10 times, then dialed and hung up another 10 times. I started to panic, then finally, I got the first message. The guy seemed mature and nice.

The next day was better, one message in the morning and one in the evening, so I felt a little better about myself. By day three, I calmed down a little. I had three potential dates and was no longer afraid I would be humiliated by the whole exercise and destined to live my life alone.

Day 4 was a Saturday, so I went through the messages and called the ones I liked first to see what they were like on the phone. I was good with people, but I was even better at analytical thinking. I wrote down a list of talking points and questions, so I wouldn’t get distracted and could gather the right information. Then I wrote notes on what they said. But in the end, I made dates with all of them. So much for analytical thinking. One was a lunch on Tuesday. One was dinner Sunday night. One was drinks Monday after work. And one was for drinks that night. And the last one I left a message.

Date number 1 was fine, a little quiet. Decent conversation but just ok. Date 2, Sunday dinner, I wanted to jump out the bathroom window. The guy just kept incessantly rambling about his work, blah blah blah…. a definite no. Lunch Tuesday was ok, but the guy had 5 kids… no thanks. Date 4 lunch was nice, he was interesting, maybe second-date worthy. Overall, after that week, I was hopeful. Two maybe second dates.

I made second dates with 1 and 4. Those were the best two dates. Nothing knocked my socks off, but I wasn’t sitting by the phone and thought those were the best prospects for the future.

One week after the ad came out, I got another message. It was later in the evening and the guy apologized profusely for waiting so late to call. He sounded nice. I don’t know if it was something about the kind tone of the voice or the repeated apologies. So, I called him on the spur of the moment. No talking points, no stock questions, I was beyond that at this point. We had a pleasant talk on the phone and made a date for dinner the next night, Thursday.

We met at a popular restaurant in town and talked about everything. He was sweet, funny and considerate.

Before I knew it, the server told us they had to close. I was shocked. We talked for four hours. It was as if time stood still.

But there was one question I had to ask. “Why did you wait a week to call on my personal ad?” I asked curiously.

“Well, I answered another ad first and didn’t think it was right to answer more than one ad at a time,” he laughed. “But it turned out to be a woman looking for another woman, not a man. I missed that part in the ad.”

I was glad he paid better attention to me. I hit the jackpot.

Note: This is an abridged version of a story from an upcoming anthology of contemporary meet-cute love stories called First Sight