When you Match a Coworker on Tinder
It might not have happened to you yet, baby peaches and eggplants, but I promise, at some point it will.
Oh, it might not be a coworker, maybe just some dude you know from your sports league, some girl who goes to spin class with you, some friend of a friend who you always see out at parties but who otherwise features but marginally in the story of your life.
One find day you will be unsuspectingly sorting through the usual crop of weirdos the internet has to offer when BLAMMO! suddenly you are staring at this vaguely recognizable
mug, winking winsomely back at you from the frame of whichever dating app you have open at the time.
This is DC, which, at a mere 68 sq miles, no more than 10 miles across at its widest, is only slightly larger than my college campus (ok, not really, but you see where I’m going here), so I have often bumped into faces I know whilst on one of the zillion dating apps that daily drink down my phone battery.
Typically, when I encounter someone I know in life while internet dating I will immediately
I mean, I literally giggled out loud to myself last time I did this, which I promise you read “you got real purty hair, can I touch it?” and to which he responded “How dare you. I clearly state in my profile this is a wig.”
A joke, ironically, feels like the least awkward way to acknowledge we see each other on this thing, but that Tinder is not the excuse I have been waiting for to actually try to date you. Because, if I had, we could’ve/would’ve/should've said something to each other by now, out in the world. OR if I WERE thanking the gods of electricity for this gift of an excuse to kick off our oft dreamt of love affair, I’dve written something like a normal, and not in the style of some un-woke internet idiot whose profile includes no pictures of their face.
However, as I stared into the eyes of Coworker Eggplant, deeply in thrall to the urge to swipe him right in order to message him something vile, there crept over me a cold, sinking sensation, as I realized:
What to do! I reeeeeeeally wanted to still send him a dumb message, but would he think it was funny? What level of depravity would thread the needle of just gross enough to be clearly a joke, but not so gross as to be offensive?
The risk was just too great. So I resolutely shimmied into my big girl panties, and bravely, adultly, took a screen shot of the best dorky photo of him camping somewhere odd, and texted it to all my work friends. Having completed this important task, I wistfully yet resignedly, swiped him left.