It began with that extended weekend when he
couldn't get enough of me. Really, that should have been a sign.
And, in fact, there was a sign. On the
Monday evening as we walked to dinner, Alfonso bemoaned the Vancouver labor
market for someone like him in the higher echelon of the service industry. I
listened as he went on what sounded like a rant. I’d mentioned a company a
friend of mine works for and Alfonso felt compelled to be dismissive of that business
organization. “They have the view that the customer is their greatest asset.
How utterly plebeian.”
Alfonso felt that the employees were a
company’s greatest asset. Fair enough. But it was the tone and the use of the
word plebeian that seemed over the
top. A company has a right to establish its own business philosophy. Get hired
before you try to change it. That’s what I would have said. But he only looked
to me for affirmation. He was right, wasn’t he? That’s what he wanted me to
say. When he asked, “What do you think?” I said, “I don’t think you really want
to know.” The intention was to avoid a first conflict but the avoidance itself
created tension. I’d been in relationships with guys who expected me to affirm
everything. That’s how some people feel supported. My problem is I have a
tendency to consider another point of view. It benefits me in the employment
sector but is a serious handicap on the dating front.
We continued our walk in silence. My mind
raced to find a new subject, my eyes searched for a distraction. Alas, there’s
never a Kermode bear on a pogo stick when you need one. I could have at least
whistled, but that’s a skill I never perfected. Comes out more like a dying
budgie.
Dying. Yes, that seemed to be the status of
Alfonso and me. But then people do panic over a first fight. This didn’t amount
to a fight though. Not a spat, not even a tiff. The word plebeian stuck in my mind. Who says that? I recalled other
conversations over the weekend and I got the clear sense that Alfonso would never
be wrong. He’d repeated a few affirmations about the universe looking out for
him and his talents always finding an audience in due time. I hadn’t known how
to respond to them. A slight nod? “Amen”? I pushed aside images of Stuart
Smalley and his SNL bits. Affirmations are foreign to a guy like me who
specializes in self-deprecation.
What I finally heard in Alfonso was conceit
and false state of superiority. Three days into our courtship, I flashed
forward to three months and even three years. This guy would be a difficult
partner. There would be no compromising, not when he would always be right. I
wondered what adjectives he’d have to belittle my perspective. Derivative?
Nescient? Picayune? My gut said, Get out.
We passed over the pizza joint I’d suggested.
“I can’t tolerate lines,” he said. Instead, we opted for a tapas restaurant
across the street. “Do you mind if I have the view seat?” Oh, of course not.
Was there an air of hostility or was I just noticing an unappealing
egocentricity? Either way, not good.
The following weekend, we met on Friday and
Sunday. I tried to put concerns behind me. This guy still liked me. I could ill
afford to be picky. To borrow a Barry Manilow song title, I was Trying to Get the Feeling Again.
Not a good mindset after only one weekend.
Sizzle turned to fizzle. It didn’t help that Alfonso immediately went into a
ten-minute play-by-play on Friday of how he reamed out an employer after he
quit an hour into the second day of his new job. The account smacked of a
superiority complex and mean-spiritedness.
But I let another week go by. I was busy with
work week. No time for contact. I texted near dinnertime the following Friday. I
needed to see him to end things. He said he’d already made plans. I felt
relieved. And Saturday ticked by. Can’t this whole thing just fade away? He
phoned at 6 p.m. when I was running an errand. He took that as me being
unavailable and I did nothing to change that perception.
I fist-pumped, something I’ve never done in
my life, not even on the tennis court. It was a tacky gesture for no one to
use, but it was a spontaneous release of angst. I’d avoided what I was certain
would have been a prickly conversation. I guess he did, too. And Alfonso could
tell others that he made the decision. He’d want that. A perfect ending.
I realized I am not as desperate to be
dating as I sometimes think. Things shouldn’t feel uncomfortable on a third day
together. The prospect of growing old alone isn’t nearly as scary as being in a
wrong relationship again. I’ve been too dismissive of gut instincts in the past.
I will still succumb to pity parties in the future, but for now I can embrace
my passive stance toward self-preservation. Spineless? Sure. I’m okay with
that.
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