First Responder: In Case of Emergency, Vamp

One Thursday night a few weeks ago, I'd managed to get myself into bed at a reasonable hour and was deep in REM when the phone rang. I felt around the bed for the handset and answered without opening my eyes to check the caller ID.

Belle: [mumbles] Hello?
LADirtyDisco: Hey... Were you asleep?
Belle: A little*... what's up?
LADirtyDisco: Sorry, but wake up. You'll definitely want to hear this...
Belle: What's going on?
LADirtyDisco: Sister and I were just talking, and we realized we know the perfect guy for you...

My friend went on to tell me a little about First Responder. He's 30, has a "good" (and oh-so-D.C.) job, is originally from Texas, went to school in the South, etc., etc. My eyes still closed, I remembered a similar notification of said 'perfect guy' via e-mail some months past. This time, LADirtyDisco was insistent that I contact him. I agreed I would, hung up, and made my way back to dreamland.

The next day, First Responder and I exchanged a few e-mails -- fun, flirtatious, and relatively light in content. He asked for my number, promising "a drunk dial or two" in return. I probably should've withheld because he put it in those terms, but I figured I might as well. This guy came with trusted references, right?

Even though I kept officially (and somewhat unsuccessfully) declaring myself out of the dating pool, and even though I typically try to keep my expectations to a minimum, I'd gotten a little hopeful at the prospect of meeting First Responder. Aside from one woeful setup arranged by a distant cousin many moons ago, I'd never been on a blind date that came with recommendations. Guys from the Internets hadn't proven particularly viable, but a guy my good friend knows and likes and thinks would be good with me? Now that had potential... Might as well get the ball rolling soon, right?

First Responder called as Roommate and I were returning from the Nats game that night. We spoke for about 15 minutes. He was drunk. I was nothing of the sort. Still, the conversation was good, perhaps even great. He seemed to be an entertaining drunk, at least. Toward the end of it, he suggested meeting up that night. I declined, telling him we were on different levels, and suggesting we could another time. I refrained from voicing my concern that he'd get his drunk ass to my place and start working toward a hookup.**

Our conversation ended with him telling me he'd call when he woke up and we could figure out how to make me have "the best day ever." I hate to admit it, but I liked the way he was thinking. I was even more excited and began to contemplate blowing off date number two with The Minarchist, which I'd planned for the following evening and about which I was not incredibly excited.

Aside from a missed call from First Responder in the wee a.m., I didn't receive the promised call that Saturday. Instead, we exchanged several very flirtatious texts (initiated by me in response to his later drunk call) throughout the day. I kept my date with The Minarchist fairly short.

When I returned home, the texting with First Responder resumed, and soon I'd invited him over to share a bottle of wine at my place. He showed up around midnight. We sipped our wine and chatted for about thirty minutes before his phone rang. I was distracted by the suddenly-rambunctious Greatest Cat of All Time, so I only heard the latter part of his conversation.

First Responder: You can't be doing this to me... Seriously?... You have NO money? ... Where are you?... Did you check your pockets?... Nothing? [sighs] Okay...

Belle: [Thinks] He's getting the emergency opt-out call! What the fuck? What the hell have I done in thirty minutes to make him vamp?

I did a rapid mental assessment of the conversation we'd had in the last half hour. From my recollection, nothing was amiss. The dude had seen a picture of me before he came over. My hair was a bit shorter and a different shade at the time, but there have been no other noteworthy alterations in my appearance since. So what the hell? Was he really just going to skedaddle like that 30 minutes into it? I've had horrible dates that lasted much, much longer.

First Responder: Sit tight. I'll pick you up... I'm not going to give you a time frame. I'll be there when I am... Okay... Okay. [Hangs up]

After hearing the end of his conversation, I thought maybe it really was a friend in need. Okay, so he's not rushing out. That's... something, right?... I wasn't entirely convinced, but I plowed gamely on.

He stayed for a bit longer than an hour after the call, during which time "we" continued "our" conversation. We talked about his work. We talked about his educational background. We talked about his fraternity. We talked about his friends. We talked about his family. We talked about his hobbies.

Noticing a trend here?

Shortly after his "friend in need" called a second time, First Responder made his exit. I walked out with him to retrieve my ever-so-important visitor parking pass, and he gave me a strange sideways hug** accompanied by the obligatory line about "doing this again sometime."

Back inside, I uncorked another bottle of wine and sat back to evaluate the night's events. I decided that if he expressed further interest I'd go out with him... this time on a real date. Overall, though, I admitted to myself and started working toward accepting the fact that he probably just wasn't that into me.

When I relayed my impressions of the night to LADirtyDisco, she was, I believe, a little mortified and a little pissed. She waited a few days (at my request) to see how he played things before sending him an e-mail. See their correspondence below.

From: LADirtyDisco
To: First Responder

Okay First Responder, what is the deal? Did you really do the whole emergency fake out "Oh No! My friend needs my help!" blah blah blah routine on my girlfriend? WTF?

From: First Responder
To: LADirtyDisco

LMAO - whoah, you guys are like a frickin old wives club!

That was soooooo not a fake out. Had to go rescue a bro up in Gtown; ended up getting into his liquor stash when I got him home. I totally hung out for like an hour! Helped her find her cat and everything! AND drank some fruity wine she hated! I think I did goddamn good. :P

- FR

I could try to save face by going on about how I don't need a 30-year-old who still talks about his frat hazing with deep, sincere fondness and longing. Or that dating a guy who drinks so much on weekend nights that he's useless for the following days is not a scenario I want to revisit. Or how I was completely turned off when he talked only about himself, failing to take the simplest cues to inquire about me. Or how he was too short. Or too work-oriented.

But, really, none of that matters. It all comes down to this: the guy was just not into me.

Admitting that delivers a different kind of freedom than one might expect.



* I'm not sure why this is typically my affirmative response to that particular question.
** The sideways hug was, at least partially, due to the fact that I had finally recaptured Greatest Cat of All Time and was holding him in one arm.