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On one side of the card, I notice, is a list of questions. On the other, the symbols for Dopamine, Oxytocin and Norepinephrine, with blank lines underneath.
I realize I've walked in on an icebreaker. As usually happens, I freeze up. I'm skeptical that genuine mutual interest can be discovered through the use of summer-camp programming, but I sign my name on her card anyway.
"They're going to put them in a raffle and the winner will get an iPod," the girl says.
I get my own card from a nearby table and get her to sign it. She's a Norepinephrine.
"I'm Molly, and this is Liz," she says, pointing to her friend.
These girls are my age, I think. These girls seem nice enough.
"We're way into Radio Lab. Are you?"
"Not really," I say. "I've never actually heard the show."
They laugh. Laughing is good.
"Then why are you here?" Molly asks. It's the question of the evening.
"Who knows," I say.
"I hear you," Molly says, bobbing up and down with an Amy Poehler-like intensity.
I begin to ask Molly what she "does," but stop myself. Isn't there any other way to chat up a half-drunk single person you've just met?
"So what do you do?" Molly asks.
The thing is, I want to like this girl. I want to be excited that she's talking to me. And even though I already know we won't connect through a mutual love of radio, I hope that the fact that we're both middle-class, creatively-inclined New York residents will do the trick.
But then Molly begins to talk about her deep love of radio — the ritual of it, the way it punctuates and populates her days. I catch Jon out of the corner of my eye, eating the last of the good Parmesan. The way she's talking about Radio Lab reminds me of the way Jon talks about the Yankees: religiously and with covetous awe. I begin to realize that this event may be more about public radio than I'd anticipated.
"On a scale of one to ten, how important is it to you that your potential mate be a radio fan?" I ask Molly.
"Well, if he's smart and curious to begin with, he can always be converted," she says.
I laugh, but I begin to wonder if I should have just told her I was a radio fan from the beginning.
"On a scale of one to ten, how important is it to you that your potential mate be a radio fan?" I ask Molly. |
I suddenly feel fraudulent. Molly, possibly because she senses it, possibly because she's thirsty, excuses herself to go get a drink.
When I get to the food table I ask Jon what happened with the angry girl.
"She was too angry," he says. "What about those two girls?"
"I was suddenly very hungry."
When the raffle is finally called, Jon wins an umbrella.
We go outside for a final cigarette just as Molly and Liz are leaving. Molly comes up to me with her number written on the back of her raffle ticket.
"We're having a party this Saturday," Molly says to me. "This is the address. You should come if you're free."
"Thanks," I say. "Totally."
As they walk away, Jon laughs. "What, I'm not invited?" he says.
"You can bring Hot Girl," I say.
On the subway ride home, I realize I have no intention of going to the party, especially not alone. But I have to admit: it feels pretty good to have been asked. And to have gone through the motions in order to get asked. I scan the subway car I'm sitting in for WNYC totebags, but all I see are iPods. Even here, it's impossible to guess who's listening to what.
n°
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| ABOUT THE AUTHOR: |
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Joey Rubin is the managing editor of Flak magazine. His work has
appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle and Publisher's
Weekly, among other publications. He lives in Brooklyn. See more of his work at joeyrubin.com. |
©2007 Joey Rubin and Nerve.com |
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