The Writer Tinder

Date Stats

My Outfit: Black short skirt, silk floral-patterned shirt and black boots

His Outfit: Skinny jeans, Plaid Shirt (or something Brooklyn-y anyway)

Day: Tuesday

Time: 8.30pm – 1am

Overall Rating: 8/10

My in-a-relationship-and-smug-about-it friends are always questioning me about Tinder and chuckling softly to themselves when I explain the way it works, in a ‘gosh, dating has changed since my day’ sort of way (which is really irritating because they are also in their mid-twenties). Anyway, one of the things that ‘gets’ them the most is how many truly awful people there are on Tinder. I mentioned a few posts back that nearly everyone seems to WORK HARD in Finance and PLAY HARD on a boat without a shirt on. For this reason, when I stumbled upon The Writer Tinder I was seriously excited.

The Writer was tall, attractive, a published author and an avid reader. I didn’t really need to know more, he was my dream man. After some fun texts back and forth we made a date to meet in Cobble Hill in Brooklyn (where he lived).

Of course, before the date had even started there were some drastic misunderstandings that nearly had the whole thing called off. We had a text conversation that looked a little like this:

He said: Just take the F to Bergen St and call me, I live right by the subway

(I thought: Is he going to abduct me?)

I said: Why don’t you just tell me somewhere to meet you, it’s easier for me to plan my journey?

(He thought: She doesn’t know her way around Brooklyn – a CARDINAL SIN for Brooklynites – and/or is an idiot!)

He said: Just call me when you get off the subway…

(I thought: HE DEFINITELY WANTS TO ABDUCT ME!)

I said: Just tell me somewhere to meet you…

(He thought: SHE DEFINITELY DOESN’T KNOW HER WAY AROUND BROOKLYN AND/OR IS AN IDIOT!)

We went on like this for actually a pretty long time, until I put my foot down and told him I’d meet him at a cocktail bar called The Zombie Hut (thanks, Google!). I refuse to travel all the way to Brooklyn just to get abducted.

He replied something huffy like ‘K’.

In sour tempers we both arrived at the bar, however meeting in the flesh dissolved our irritation with each other. There was instant chemistry.

We ordered some cocktails, sat down next to a fireplace at the back of the bar and laughed about our passive aggressive text conversation a mere hour earlier: he had thought I was a moron and I had thought he was a rapist – hilair!

The conversation was easy and comfortable and we even played Connect 4. It was all very Brooklyn.

He was keen to show me around his area, so we went to another bar called Camp (yes, themed like a Summer Camp…so Brooklyn) and had another drink. He saw some friends sitting at another ‘table’ (log), eating smores (REALLY) and went over to say hi. For about 10 minutes I was sitting by myself on a fake log and twiddling my thumbs, wondering whether it would be reasonable to ask his friends for a smore.

When he moseyed back I was about to say something like ‘RUDE’, but his charming-writer-energy won me right back as soon as he sat down… hey, maybe it’s normal in Brooklyn to leave your date sitting on a fake log for 10 minutes while you eat your friends’ smores?

We finished our drinks and he said he wanted to take me to another bar that had free popcorn and darts. All I heard was free popcorn, so obviously we went.

(I immediately filled a basket of popcorn and from this moment until the end of our date, I was steadily eating popcorn.)

We ordered drinks and he said he wanted to play darts. I was dubious… I’m not really into sports (or ‘sports’) nor do I think throwing sharp metal darts into the abyss when I’ve been drinking is a particularly good idea, but he convinced me and I’ll admit that it was a lot of fun.

The low point of the date occurred mid-dart game, when I ordered another glass of wine and placed it on the ledge, but actually didn’t, and it smashed on the floor and I had to ask the bartender for a dustpan and brush to sweep away the glass and my shame.

At the end of our date, he grabbed me and started kissing me. It was really hot, and the whole thing was SO Brooklyn… popcorn, darts, standing on sticky-wine-floor and kissing penniless writer (no, he did not pick up the tab)…

The next day he asked me for coffee and then for drinks again in the evening. I was pretty excited about the whole thing but there was a catch (THERE’S ALWAYS A CATCH). He was dating like 10 other people (or as he put it, ‘there are lots of people in my orbit right now, but you’re right up there at the top.’) This seems to be an occupational hazard of dating in NYC but I still can’t get on board with it.

Surely if you really like someone you don’t need to date 10 other people, just in case? Prince Charming gets me…