Not enough to make a relationship work, but during the NBA playoffs, it was enough to keep us seeing each other regularly, visiting sports bars, eating edamame (at a dive bar? only in California) and high-fiving/smooching each time Steph Curry made a ridiculous 3-pointer.
It’s the little things, am I right?
Pat and I met on Match.com and quickly discovered we had nothing in common. Except our love the Warriors. But that love ran deep–and it was basketball season–so we parlayed it into a pseudo-relationship based solely on our obsession with the Dubs and a Class B physical attraction.
One night at a place called The Office, we grabbed a few spots at the bar next to someone Pat recognized as a dude he needed to schmooze. Pat owned a pool business serving high-end clients in Silicon Valley, and this particular guy had connections with some of the highest on the high end. So Pat went into full-out suck-up mode.
That, unfortunately, left me sitting there alone with my edamame. As much as I love me some Dubs, I prefer to watch them while I’m cheering along with a pal, not while I’m being snubbed by a date who’s blowing me off in order to kiss someone else’s ass.
While I was sucking on an edamame shell, feeling a bit tossed aside, this hottie with a beard slid on to the bar stool next to me and said, “I hope you don’t mind me sitting here – that guy at the end of the bar won’t shut up and I wanna watch the game.”
Mind? Why the hell would I mind? My date is practically sucking face with a dude he’s trying to win over, and my only oral pleasure at the moment is coming from a soybean. Please. Have a seat and get your fist bump ready because Curry is hot tonight and I need a “hell, yeah” up in here.
So I said, “Happy to have the company!” and turned slightly his way. Todd and I struck up a conversation, cheered for our Dubs, noshed on edamame . . . and then he asked me, “What’s the name of the guy you’re with?”
Oh damn. He had noticed: I was on a date. I’d almost forgotten myself.
“Pat – seriously? I think I went to high school with him . . . ”
And that’s when Todd, my newfound sort-of date introduced himself to my real-but-really-rude date, and I got caught in a Pat/Todd sandwich while they reminisced about old times and glory days. FML.
But something strange happened during all of this, besides me being ignored by not one, but two men. During the course of their conversation, I realized that Todd and I had met before. On Match.com. And that we’d texted for a few weeks and actually made plans to meet. And then I dropped off. As in, ghosted. Because I started seeing (you guessed it) Pat.
Ghosting is disrespectful. Rude. It says, “You’re disposable.” But fuck me – I was pretty sure that’s exactly what I had done to this guy. He looked like the pictures I remembered, he lived in this area, the guy’s name was definitely Todd . . . and I recalled that he’d told me he was a plumbing contractor.
Pat: “So Todd, what do you do now for work?”
Todd: “I’m a plumbing contractor.”
Doh. YES. I had met Todd. We’d texted, made plans, then I’d ghosted. Nice, Sienna. Way to go. Bitch.
For the rest of the evening, I wondered if Todd realized it was me. Pat began paying more attention when he realized I’d found a potential replacement for him (a much more attractive replacement). And Todd walked the fine line between being friendly and flirty. We had an obvious attraction. Even though I was obviously on a date. With his high school classmate. Weeeiirrddd. There are millions of people in the Bay Area. Small world, much?
The Warriors won that night. Pat and I made plans to see each other the following Saturday, but he ignored me the whole day till 7:00 that evening (“I had pools to repair”), which pushed me to my limit, so I said “sayonara, asshole,” and decided I would love the Dubs on my own.
And then I texted Todd.
“Heyyyy . . . Todd! Remember me? So crazy that we actually met at The Office, right?” *Smiley face* *Winky face* *Awkward smile with teeth showing face*
“What . . .?” Clearly he hadn’t put two & two (& two) together.
I apologetically explained the situation – that the girl he’d eaten edamame with at The Office was indeed the same girl from Match who’d ghosted on him about a month earlier – and he laughed. Thank God he laughed. He could just as easily have lectured me about how rude it is to blow someone off like that and why couldn’t I have just responded with a simple text saying I’d met someone else and what a bitch I was to flake on him . . .
But he didn’t.
And now Todd and I have plans to get together and watch the Dubs. Not quite a happily ever after ending, but I’ll take it. Plus, he’s going to come over and install a water line so the water/ice in my freezer door will work. SCORE. I dig a man who’s skilled enough to check out my plumbing.
What’s the moral of the story, ladies? I don’t know . . . maybe there are several.
It’s a small, small word. Always be kind. Don’t blow people off. Don’t date assholes.
And sometimes, if you’re really lucky, a nice guy will give you a second chance even after you’ve acted like an asshole yourself.
Oh – and edamame is a delicious bar snack. Go Dubs.