I wouldn’t say I’m pessimistic about Internet dates. I prefer…realistic. I recognize that most of them are going nowhere, so I don’t really do the whole getting-excited-about-people-I-meet thing. Anyone can look good after two drinks and a couple of their top-tier stories, but I wanna see what it’s like after we’ve had dinner a few times and all their best material is used up. Make me smile when we’re bored and then I’ll get excited. But sometimes I break my own rules…
A little while back, I went out with a doctor. A hot doctor. A hot doctor who had a good sense of humor and seemed to find my jokes unreasonably hilarious. Around the It’s Not a Match offices, that’s what we call the “mother load.” (Note: There are absolutely no It’s Not a Match offices.) So halfway through the first date, I could see my skepticism was going to be tested. To remain unimpressed in the face of intelligent beauty, well that’s some serious devotion to negativity. I mean, come on…
Normally I’m up to the toughest of pessimistic tasks. But then Hot Doctor pulled out the secret weapon.
Hot Doctor: I’m kinda worried about this weekend…
Hot Doctor: I’ve gotta go visit my brother. He’s been having a lot of trouble feeling depressed, he stopped eating for a while. We’re worried he might kill himself.
So she’s smart, attractive, funny AND she comes from a difficult family background that might make her a little bit crazy?! DING DING DING we have a winner! Be still my beating and somewhat deranged heart. What can I say, I don’t mean to pick the complicated ones. I don’t start talking to a girl and hold out hope that perhaps one day she used to be a cutter. But come on, you’ve read this site, there’s something about a girl that’s just a little bit screwy that I can’t resist. My therapist is aware of the issue, I assure you. But I had only known Hot Doctor – or shall I say Hoctor? – for about an hour, and already I was feeling that thing you humans call excitement. Until, that is, she presented a level of screwy that I hadn’t yet considered.
Thing That Concerned Me #1: She had just started working at a new hospital because the patients at her previous one were all “pretty gross.” Upon further questioning, gross seemed to involve being really fat, smoking too much, and generally having a bad attitude. I don’t know, I mean I guess doctors are allowed to be annoyed with their patients, but not liking them because they’re fat seemed pretty tough. Especially for an obstetrician.
Thing That Concerned Me #2: She didn’t like Jews.
Now, she didn’t say “Jews” specifically, she said Israelis. But then, in her explanation, she listed off a bunch of characteristics that are stereotypically assigned to Jewish people. And it’s not as long as you dislike Israelis in general but not Jews specifically you’re totally in the clear. As the story went, Hoctor wasn’t getting along with a friend because the friend had recently taken on a boyfriend of Israeli decent. She said that and then I said nothing, because what really does one say when it looks like their companion is about to get super racist? Obviously from my expression, she felt it necessary to explain. “I’m not prejudiced or anything,” she said/they always say, “I’ve just had a lot of bad interactions with Israelis.” Saying nothing had worked so far, so I decided to stick with that game plan. “They’re just always getting into arguments. This guy is really opinionated and stubborn, which is exactly how I knew he would be, and I can’t handle it.” At that point, we were at racish – not all the way racist, but pretty darn close. Then Hoctor brought it home, “plus he always argues over the bill when we get food delivered. It’s like, ‘I’m sorry, but we have to tip more than 5%.’ ” Aaaaand we’ve achieved racist!
So OK, obviously this girl was not a fan of the Jewish people. Sorry, Israeli people. But I’ve never really seen racism in action before. It didn’t seem all angry and southern and Mel Gibsony like it does in the movies. She was this cute, sweet little Asian girl who for some reason just hated the crap out of Jewish people. It was weird. She was really great, other than the arbitrary hatred of people based solely on ethnicity. When I said I liked complex women, I meant more…complex feelings about life, not complex feelings about who to root for in Mississippi Burning.
So in the end, it turned out my skepticism was well founded. Hot Doctor asked me if I’d like to go out again, but I politely declined. Perhaps we could’ve had a fine time, but what if we got overcharged on the bill? I’d ask the waiter about it and all of a sudden I’d have a burning cross on my lawn. You just can’t build a romance on that. No matter how much she reminded me of a young Jane Seymour.