At 24, Tinder wasn’t around yet, but MySpace served its purpose by introducing us to people we might never have met otherwise—acting as a crude dating app before dating apps were even a thing.
John “slid into my DMs” (as we’d say now) and started messaging me. He was incredibly attractive and had two different colored eyes. He also had sparrow tattoos, which in hindsight was a sure sign things were going to go south, but I was young thought they were the coolest. After exchanging several messages, we realized we lived in the same city. Since MySpace didn’t have location services back then, finding someone in the same area code was never a guarantee.
We decided to meet in person at a local bar. Because I didn’t have a cell phone yet, location sharing with friends wasn’t an option; just taking my life into my own hands and hoping for the best.
When I arrived, John was just as good-looking as his photos, but he was a talker. For two and a half hours straight, he droned on and on. I honestly couldn’t tell you what he talked about because it was years ago and I’m certain I dissociated several times while he spoke. Occasionally, he’d realize he was dominating the conversation and try to ask me a question, but the moment I started to answer, it reminded him of something else about himself; so he’d interrupt and go right back to talking.
By hour three, I was done. I excused myself to the restroom. I was too young to know it was okay to just leave a date someone a date plus we were sitting too close to the exit for me to sneak past him unnoticed.
I had only one option: I literally climbed out of the bathroom window. As I’m telling this story, I realize I must have spent a significant portion of my 20s climbing out of windows into back alleys.**
It was a tight squeeze, but it was still better than the alternative of walking back to that table.
** shout out to the alleged drug dealer who taught me to jump out windows though
The Chronicles of a Single Woman: Dating 