What’s your point caller?

I was slowly starting to get used to being on my own, or at least accept it. On a normal Saturday night, I went to a pub with friends. As the evening progressed, I got talking to a friend of a friend. He wasn’t too bad looking; he seemed a tiny bit funny and was appropriately dressed. I guess what I’m trying to say is that he was OK, or at least he had potential. Not wanting to come across as a desperately wanton woman, (and not knowing if I actually could) at the end of the night I gave him my phone number. See, so far, so normal.
When I left the pub, I had no idea if he’d call or not and I certainly didn’t spend my time waiting by the phone (although technically I did because I gave him my mobile number). Which is the thing that’s changed the most, I guess, since B.E (before ex). I did have a mobile then, or a brick masquerading as one, but I didn’t use it that much and I didn’t know what a text was. I remember our dating arrangements were conducted mainly via the landline – why does it sound as if I am relaying this story to my grandchildren? – and many a fun hour was spent waiting for said landline to ring.
Anyway, there was I pretending not to wait for a call and then he called in the week to suggest a Saturday lunch. I thought that a lunch date sounded like a civilised way to get back into the dating game and I couldn’t see any reason not to go. Who am I kidding? I wanted to go. I still hadn’t been on an actual, real live date since I’d arrived back in London. So I asked him where we should meet. He said he’d call me on Saturday. I was unsure why we couldn’t pin down a time there and then, but hey this was new to me so I didn’t question it.
Instead I went about my business until Saturday. I had no reason to think that this wasn’t going to happen, after all, he suggested lunch, I agreed; it doesn’t get simpler than that, surely? The second call came on Saturday morning.
‘Still on for lunch?’
‘Sure.’
‘OK, I’ll call you when I’m done here.’ You see this is how green I was, I didn’t even ask what ‘done here,’ meant or was.
He called again, just before lunchtime, to say he was running late, but he’d call me later. The conversation was so rushed that I forgot to ask him if we were still having lunch.
So, the burning question: do I eat? Do I hold off in case he does call and wants to go for a late lunch? Do I have a small snack to keep me going or do I just carry on and stop asking myself silly questions while waiting for some bloke I hardly know to bloody well call me again? I did the latter. I went to lunch with my girlfriend, and we ate, shared a bottle of wine and I forgot about him a bit, (translation, moaned about him a lot).
The girlfriend I lunched with blames mobile phones on the inability of anyone to commit to a meeting. She believes that because you can get hold of anyone almost anytime, the need to firm up arrangements has become too relaxed. Having been single for a while longer than me she also seemed to think it normal to take somewhere between two and five calls to fix up one little date. (I’m hoping she was either exaggerating or trying to scare me). I think it sounds ridiculous, expensive and a waste of time. Could this really be new dating?
‘Doesn’t it drive you crazy?’ I asked her.
‘Of course,’ she replied, resignedly, ‘but what can you do?’
Nothing, evidently.
My caller did call later in the afternoon, to say that he was sorry but he was still tied up. I didn’t ask him what with; by this point my interest had transferred its affections to my more reliable date; wine. Of course he said he’d call me later before he rang off. Then it hit me, between my lovely friend and my non-lunch companion, I would be drawing my pension before I ever got to go on my next date.
At eight that evening I had eaten, I had had a drink (or two) and I was debating the evening ahead. My mobile trilled and lo and behold it was him again.
‘I’m sorry that we didn’t have lunch,’ he said.
‘Never mind,’ I replied, in my relaxed (and somewhat bored of him) state. ‘Maybe some other time,’ I half-heartedly suggested.
‘Yeah, definitely. I’ll give you a call.’

Was I was in the grip of the vicious circle of mobile phone hell? Could we really blame this on mobile technology as my friend had done? Was it more complex? Was it just this man who couldn’t do dates? Was it me? Was it all men? Did I have days, weeks, months, years like this stretching ahead of me? Why did some man I hardly even knew, and hadn’t really had the time to decide if I fancied, manage to make me feel so confused? There were too many questions and no obvious answers.
Welcome to trying to date.
For the past eight years when I wanted to go to lunch I would go to my ex and ask him to take me to lunch. He nearly always said yes. It was that simple, that easy. Now, it seemed easier to organise the Geneva Convention than to arrange this date. I didn’t have the time or the energy or the interest for this.

‘What’s your point caller?’ I’ll ask next time this happens and if there isn’t one I’m definitely going to hang up.

Next Week: Where Have All The Grown Ups Gone?

copyright 2006 Faith Bleasdale, all rights reserved.