The Single Woman’s Dating Playbook: The Groupon

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Things aren’t going wonderfully in my love life, fam. In fact, I feel the achy kind of gnawing in my gut that only comes along when you know a storm is brewing. Do you know the feeling? The one where the clouds darken over a good thing and you can see the end before the rain starts to pour?

I’m sitting on the metro, writing this article, and I feel a pang of confusion so forceful I want to cry. The only thing worse than knowing something is over is suspecting something is over but having no definitive reason why.

But guess what, these things happen. It doesn’t mean they feel any less shitty when they do, but breakups are about as unavoidable as hearing your boss talk Crypto in 2018.

A few minutes ago I was very very close to closing my computer and calling it quits on this weeks SWDP. Then, I took a deep breath and realized if there’s ever a time when my sadness is not unique, it’s right now.

Clichés, like crying on the metro because you think a relationship may be over, are clichés for a reason. Haven’t we all been there one time or another? If I feel this way I’m sure there are a few playbook readers that have, at least at one point, felt this way, too.

I mean, don’t tell me I’m the only one that’s ever cried on public transit.

So that’s that. I’m sad. What I’m not, however, is hopeless. I am not at all disheartened with this whole dating thing, even if I’ve got to spend a little bit of time licking my wounds.

I haven’t forgotten why I cared for Jack, and I also haven’t forgotten why he cared about me. Maybe I’m not right for him, but that certainly doesn’t make me any less valuable a commodity, and I think that’s important to remember. When someone leaves, they don’t take a part of your worth with them, you’re not any less valuable than you were when they came.

Caring is cool, and hurting is part of that.

So, Single Squad™, you can’t get rid of me that easy. Without further adieu, I present to you this week’s Single Woman’s Dating Playbook: The Groupon.

Set The Stage

The finest pickup line that I have ever experienced happened 8 months ago as I was sitting on the metro minding my own business. Long before I began blogging, I spent my commutes reading and or staring out the window listening to Drake.

On that particular occasion, I was reading Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged.

“Interesting choice in metro reading material,” my seat partner said, barely looking up from his own book.

I lifted my eyes from the novel to assess my distractor. He seemed roughly my age, with blond hair and this kind of ‘wrong side of the tracks’ smile.

“I like a side of controversial literature with my public transit,” I replied, equally as blasé.

In retrospect, I acknowledge that my response was probably slightly abrasive. That being said, anyone that throws shade at my paperback during 5 PM rush hour deserves a little side eye. Plus, I bet he’s never even read Atlas Shrugged. If he had, he would have taken an entirely different tone I’m sure.

Begrudgingly, I looked over at the book Mr. boy on the metro had in his hands. It was a physics textbook, but not the kind students use, the kind adults that do physics for a living use.

Immediately, I was intrigued. This boy couldn’t have been older than me, what was he doing reading a faded brown physics book on the LA metro? For god sake, he had a skateboard clipped to his backpack!

“Is the physics book just a ploy to intimidate girls trying to hit on you on the metro?” I said a few minutes later.

Metro boy looked up from his reading a second time, raising one eyebrow as if he hadn’t expected me to continue the conversation.

The honest truth is that I found him wildly intriguing. Attractive? I wasn’t sure. But I couldn’t figure him out, and that’s what I liked.

For the next 35 minutes, we fell into a deeper conversation than I have ever had on city transit, so much so that I lost track of time until the bell rang to signal we had arrived at his stop. Usually upfront and forward, I found myself paralyzed in my seat.

“Oh shit,” he said. “This is my stop. Look, I have to go, but can I have your number?” he rushed, collecting his things and sliding past me into the aisle. Then, in a move so cinematic I swear the entire train car was gaping around us, the boy from the metro pulled a sharpie from his pocket and handed it to me, extending his arm so I could write my number on his skin.

Quickly I wrote down my telephone number as if I was a high school freshman giving my digits to the bad boy who smokes cigarettes during homeroom.

“I’ll call you!” he yelled over his shoulder as he stepped off the train. I stared out the window and watched him skate away into the distance. I was sure I’d never see the kid again.

Plan The Play

That Saturday I was lying in bed thinking about another boy entirely, a boy I had recently broken up with. I was feeling sorry for myself, much like I am now, when my phone buzzed under my pillow.

“I never thought I’d meet someone so interesting on the metro,” he wrote.

“Metro boy is that you? I was worried you had sweat off my number,” I replied.

In all honesty, I hadn’t thought much about him since our encounter.

“Want to go on a date with me?” he responded, cutting to the chase far more quickly than I anticipated.

I rolled onto my elbows in bed. I hadn’t planned on taking off my robe all weekend, much less going on any sort of date. There was something about metro boy, however, that I liked. Still, when it came down to it, I was in a post-breakup funk I simply couldn’t shake and was forced to decline his offer.

“Honestly, I think you’re really cool, but I just got out of a relationship. I’m not really in the market to date,” I texted back on impulse.

Quickly, he responded. “No stress. I’m in the same boat; it’s probably for the best. Nice meeting you metro girl!”

I read his text and smiled; what a nice guy.

That afternoon, try as I might to distract myself with snacks and books, I couldn’t shake the thought of his smile or the weird juxtaposition of his demeanor versus his career. Who was this guy? Finally, I concluded that I’d made a mistake. I wasn’t one to give up the opportunity to get to know a really cool guy that easily.

That’s when I had an idea. I opened my phone and texted the boy from the metro a Hail Mary of sorts.

“What’s your email?” I wrote.

A few minutes later he replied with his email (which I will not publish because I think that is illegal). I appreciated his leap of faith; people generally don’t give their email to complete strangers.

Two minutes later, I sent him a link to a Groupon I had purchased months before. It was two tickets to an art show in Santa Monica plus four free drink tickets – a date I had planned to go on with my ex.

“If we’re both recently single, then I suppose there’s no harm in being single together, is there?” I texted, half expecting him to ignore me entirely.

“Haha did you just decline my date to then re-invite me on a date?” he responded.

“I mean, I already have the tickets, so either they’re going to go to waste, or we can take advantage of the free wine and talk shit about our exes instead of looking at the art…” I rambled.

“Why not, it’ll be fun. I love Groupon,” he responded. “But if you’re covering drinks, let me at least cover dinner.”

“But then it’s a date, instead of two single people being single together!” I said, half-joking, half-serious.

“Ya, but I already have a Groupon for dinner in Santa Monica…” he replied, “we wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

“Suit yourself,” I said, knowing full he had no such Groupon in his position. Not yet, at least.

Shoot Your Shot

“Two glasses of Pinot please,” I said to the bartender. She handed me two glasses of cheap art gallery red in exchange for two of my four drink tickets. I handed one to Kyle and we cheersed.

We looked at the art some, but mostly we sat on the little benches in between the art and talked. We talked through our first, then second glass of wine, until my stomach was growling and the gallery owners began to wonder why we were even there in the first place.

“Well, Kyle from the metro,” I said, standing up under the spotlights. “It has been a pleasure.”

“Woah woah woah,” he said, pulling a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “What about my half of the bargain? You can’t just use me to redeem your Groupon and then completely ignore mine!”

I laughed, taking the piece of paper from his outstretched hands. It was a Groupon for sushi and sake down the street.

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want to waste such a good opportunity,” I smiled, linking my arm with his.

For the next two hours, we sat and ate sushi and drank sake. The whole time the Groupon was perched on the edge of the table as a reminder of our trade.

The date felt, for lack of a better word, equitable – and I think that is exactly what I needed.

After a few hard weeks of feeling out of control, I felt entirely responsible for at least half of the date. It was an even split, my Groupon and his Groupon, just two people redeeming coupons and enjoying each other’s company.

We talked some about our exes, mostly about what went wrong, but eventually, we grew bored of the lamenting and started to get to know each other outside of our exes.

It was like I was shaking the dust from my bones and, just like that, I felt hopeful.

At the end of the night, when we hugged goodbye, Kyle told me the Groupon date was a genius idea. He said he’d like to do it again sometime, and that he hoped he could do it with me.

I smiled and took a deep breath, relishing in that moment when the post-breakup fog seems to lift.

“Absolutely,” I said back. I kissed him on the cheek and watched him skate away through my kitchen window.

It’s been 8 months since that very first Groupon date – 8 months since we laughed and flirted and hugged goodnight promising to see each other soon, and I haven’t seen or spoken to Kyle since.

I don’t know why neither one of us reached out again. Maybe it was because we both knew, regardless of our chemistry, that we weren’t a particularly good match. Maybe neither of us were ready to really date again.

Or maybe, and this is my bet, maybe we were just so grateful for the respite from the loneliness that we provided one another that night, that neither of us wanted to ruin the memory.

Either way, it is still one of my fondest dates in recent memory.

Whenever I buy a Groupon, I think about Kyle and smile. I think about his blond hair and biting sense of humor and I really, really hope he’s well.

I hope he’s out there going on plenty more Groupon dates with another pretty girl, and that she knows how lucky she is to have found him.

As for me? I’ll be fine, I always am.

And as for you, my ever loyal Playbook readers, you go buy some Groupons stat. After all, you never know when you’ll want to redeem them for some sake and a really good date..

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CallMeVictoria

Life is messy, let's get dirty. itwasvictoria@gmail.com

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