The Swipe of Your Life

 12/2- The Swipe of Your Life

    The title is misleading. It really wasn't the swipe of my life, or even close to it. In fact, for a lot of people, it wouldn't even be that notable at all. It definitely would not be worthy of an entry in a public diary. But this post isn't about a lot of people. This is about the shy girl's life, more specifically Quiet Quinn. And boy did this feel like the Swipe of her Life. (She, I mean I, will now refrain from referring to herself-myself-in third person. I do not have dissociative identity disorder in addition to social anxiety, we promise). 

    As always, I will set the scene. I wake up at around 10am. The sun peeks its bright arms through the blinders, gnawing at me to wake up. I acquiese, massaging my eyes and swinging my hand onto the bedside table, feeling for a rectangular, thick object. My cellphone, in case it wasn't clear enough. I was bored, and decided to swipe on Bumble for potential matches. From my last post, you should know that I had redownloaded the app because I determined my self-esteem needed a boost, and online dating usually provides that. It's like a quick fix, a drug, for a weakening self-concept. 

    Bumble's dry, after all, I had been frantically swiping for days now. I decide to unpause my profile on Hinge, which I hadn't used since the summer (despite all those failed happy hours, mind you!) I swipe once, then twice, and thus the beginning-or middle-of our story commences.

    I should probably provide context. Was this some hot guy? An ex (lol)? An old fling from my time living abroad (also lol)? A teacher? This is not Pretty Little Liars, -Q. No, this was a boy from my school. Generic, I know. But not just any boy. This was a boy who had talked to me (!) 

    We will have to take a brief detour to the first week of November, you know, the beginning of my month of rejection (as I now call it). I'm in the office for my club. I go there every week to study because I have a long break between classes. He's usually there too, and prior to this week, we hadn't talked once. We're forced to wear masks so all I knew about him was that he had curly-ish dark blond hair, brown eyes, and was sort of tall. He also never said hello, which I thought was rude but also endearing because it could have signaled that he was shy (like me, if that wasn't obvious). The office is separated into two sections. He would usually sit in the one on the right side, while I would sit in the main room on the left. 

    The first week of November, I was crushed. I had gone to another happy hour with another club, and had been ignored by the boy for which I had been pining for months. What was wrong with me? Why didn't that boy so much as say hello, or goodbye? Did I accidentally like a picture from a year ago during one of my impromptu Instagram stalking sessions? Did I accidentally follow him from my dog's account? Did I really give off that strong of a Desperate Girl Energy (DEG)? 

    But that's a story that predates this blog. I'm not going to lie though, my self esteem was hit badly. I came home, cried, barely ate my leftover burger, and drank wine. I'm not one to drink wine whenever I'm sad because I don't want to foster an unhealthy drinking dependency. However, that day, I needed it. This was the day before I would go to the office.

    It should be noted that nothing really happened the day I went to the office, save for a few differences. One was that he was sitting in the main room for the first time ever instead of the left. That was the first difference between the two pictures in our round of Spot the Difference. The next one I spied was his attire. He usually dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. This time, it was a button-down and jeans. Strike two. The next spotting was his actions. He didn't just sport a passive glare in my direction to acknowledge my presence. He said hello. I didn't think too much of it, but it was a welcome difference, and I hoped that this picture would supplant the old one. End of game. 

    That was the first day. I went to my class, then home, and did not think much of it. I usually did not go to the office again during the week. The way my class schedule worked, it never fit. However, that day, I had an engagement with my work and had to go to school earlier. I had some undone work for my club, so I decided to visit the office and finish that in my freetime after the meeting with my work had concluded. I don't think it would spoil anything prematurely to say he was there.

    I entered, expecting either no reaction as usual or a hello as unusual. He did the latter, but that's not where it ended. He asked me a few questions, if we had met, what my name was, and volunteered his. He gave me the year he was in, then helped me with my assignment for the club. I remember when he first asked me for my name, I froze. It's a shame the mask couldn't cover my eyes, for I'm sure he could note just how bewildered they were that he, or anyone of the opposite sex, had been talking to me. I think I even paused before answering the basic question of my name. He even helped me work a machine, which I legitimately did not know how to operate as I am technologically deficient. It felt like a real life meet-cute. 

    But that's not where it ended. I go to class, then after I walk back to the parking lot. It should be noted that I have horrifically bad luck when it comes to dating. I think the mere presence of this diary should lend evidence to that. However, that day was different. A boy spoke to me, which was odd, right? I mean, I had been in that school for over a year, and people did not just walk up to strangers to talk to them, male or female. It didn't feel like real life, and maybe it wasn't. Maybe I had been dreaming, or had entered a parallel universe where my luck was at least not pointing south. It should be noted the presence of this diary should also provide evidence for the fact that my residency in that parallel universe did not last longer than a day. 

    I'm walking the bridge to the garage when I see him. I didn't know it was him, mind you, but he looked familiar. He was sporting the same button-down blue shirt, had the same swoop of his hair, same height. He was a bit petite though, so my only doubt was whether this boy was the one from my club, or an undergraduate student. Nevertheless, she-I-persisted.

    We get to the elevator, and I maintain my focus on the closed doors. Then he looks to his left, and starts a conversation. We briefly talk about our weekend plans, about the meeting with my work, about what he was doing after, about school. Then we get to our floor, and that's it. I say I need to look for my car, because I genuinely had no idea where it was, and he leaves. I start flailing around the floors, gushing to my mom about my small encounter with fate and pressing the red button on my keys, trying to discern where exactly my car's horn was beeping from. I finally find it, and drive home. I felt rejuvenated. Like my self-esteem was getting a second chance.

    Of course, my obsessive-compulsive self is already planning our next chance encounter. He would go to the office on the same days, so I'd see him then. I couldn't help but plan what I'd say, so that I wouldn't accidentally join two words together or misstate a common phrase. Of course, he would be there the following week. Until he wasn't. Well, maybe his class had been on Zoom, or he had gone home for Veteran's Day. Until he wasn't there the following week either. Well, maybe he had a meeting at that time? Then he wasn't there for a third week. Was it me? Had I pushed him away with my awkwardness? I felt dejected but accepted that God had thrown me a bone, and I had already devoured it. 

    So now it's the first week of December. At this point, I experience two other negative encounters with crushes from my school, each at a happy hour (I really have to stop going to these). One of which is documented here, one of which is not. I'm swiping, not expecting, for once, to see this boy. Until I do. 

    I don't know what I should do, so naturally, I call my mom. If I send a "like" on Hinge, he'll know. It's not like Bumble or Tinder where the person doesn't find out you liked them unless they like you too. I would be outwardly admitting that I like him. That's a big risk, but one that I'm almost willing to take, with a little encouragement from my betters. 

    My mom says I should do it, and we craft a message. As I'm about to send it, her phone crashes. She calls me back, and by some other twist of fate, the app refreshes. He's gone, and no message was sent. Perhaps this should have signaled that maybe it was best to leave him be. This was God throwing me another bone. But momma hadn't raised no quitter. I change my age preferences to limit the amount of people shown, and resume my frantic swiping. 

    It wasn't until the following morning that he reappears. This time, I had practiced exactly the message I wanted to say. So I write it, my thumb encircling the "Send Like" purple button as if it would instead launch a nuclear weapon unto North Korea. Then I press it.

    I am going to take another detour, this time to the future. I do not regret sending this. In fact, if I could go back in time now, I would do it again. There's no point liking someone who doesn't feel the same. Complaining about my dating woes will get me nowhere, only action will. And perhaps I'll go through another 100 unanswered messages before I get to my 1, but if it does get me there, it would have been worth it. That's all we need anyway, just the 1. No amount of likes from the many guys online could replace the longing for that 1, which I think demonstrates a lot. 

    It is now three days out from that fateful message, and I have not received anything. I know he's been on too. Hinge shows 75 percent active users, and only 25 inactive users in the Discovery feed. He was one of the first to come out when I unpaused my profile, and he reappeared again only a day later. Statistically speaking, he's most likely to be an active user. Hinge describes these as someone who has been on in the past 3 days. (Shoutout to Hinge.app.com and Reddit.com for all the info!) 

    Now, the algorithm probably showed him more because we attend the same school, and I tend to match a lot with people from there. But, as soft, non-data-driven factors, we are amidst finals. I am currently talking or swiping with and on other boys from my school. No one studies for 24 hours a day, and dating apps are always a welcome distraction. I also predict he is recently out of a relationship, considering the fact I did not see his profile when I was last on, and his odd change in behavior from one week to the next. That's another variable that predicts more activity. So he's been on. He's seen the message. And he's "X'ed" it. 

    Again, I don't regret it. If I saw another boy I liked from my school, absent a few I could not out of self-respect swipe right on, I would do it again. I don't care about the temporary low because I'd been "rejected," again, even though it does hurt. I mostly care about the fact that I was excited about him. I know it was misplaced, and that ultimately the conversations we had were only intended in a friendly capacity. However, it was nice to feel the adrenaline, heart-pumping excitement over a boy that I had actually interacted with. He wasn't just a guy I admired from afar or from Instagram, he was a guy I only really started liking because he had talked to me.

    If anything, my only "regret," which is more regret on his behalf, is that he hadn't talked to me that day. I only wish he continued being that sulky boy who dressed in t-shirts and sat on the other side of the space. I hadn't noticed that boy, and to my knowledge, he hadn't noticed me. Then, if I had swiped right, I wouldn't have remembered him. And maybe I would not have even swiped right at all, although I do tend to be partial toward boys from my school. Instead, I'm left content that I was brave, and proud of my ability to overcome my fears of rejection for the possibility of something great. But also sad that that something great I hoped was there, was not. 

    I definitely hope I never do that to anyone in my life. I'm not too friendly to begin with, so I doubt I would. But just in case, I wish and pray that I don't. I don't know what his intentions were when he spoke to me. If he had recently broken up with someone or had also been rejected in a happy hour and needed a self-esteem boost, and I was in the right place at the right time. Or if he had an odd bout of friendliness inspired by therapy or beers from the local bar on campus. Or if he's the guest from a parallel universe.

    Whatever the cause, I just wish he hadn't spoken to me more than anything. For now, I will bid that crush adieu, which thankfully lasted less long than the rest, and will continue studying for my three finals. Two outlines down, one more to go, so despite my obsession over matters of the heart, I don't think I'm doing too shabby over matters elsewhere.