Deborah Lipp

I may have to create a new category for “dating hell.”

This time I won’t even get as far as a Date From Hell.™ I will stop this at the Phone Call From Hell™ and pause to once again thank the Gods and my own inner wisdom that I don’t give these bozos my real name.

Guy pursued a lot on the ‘net. First contact, I wasn’t sure I was interested. Second contact, I was made slightly uncomfortable by something he said. Third contact, kinda nice, kinda too pushy, but I started second-guessing myself. Don’t I like pushy guys when I meet them? Shouldn’t I give this one a chance?

So anyway, phone call. Just as he calls, Arthur came home. So I said “My son just came home. He just had his first shift on his first job.” (Which, by the way, yay Arthur.) Well that was it. This guy launches into this stentorian monologue: “That’s fantastic! That’s so great! He will have skills for the rest of his life. You have done such a good thing for him. He’ll learn morals, he’ll learn ethics, he’ll learn how to connect with people. No matter what he does in the future, these skills will be his.” On and on and on. And it doesn’t sound bad to type it, but it was so bombastic, and so lectury, (and so loud and so rapid-fire) and we had just started talking. We’d never spoken before. Isn’t this a little over the top? He doesn’t know anything about Arthur, and he doesn’t know what I’ve done or not done, and hey, why does he need to learn morals? He already has morals.

On and on and on without letting me get a single word in, and finally he says “Now you’ll have to see if you can get him to join the Air Force when he turns 18.” What? So I say “No.” and he stops dead in his tracks. “What? No? Why ‘no’?”

“He won’t do that.”

“Why not?” Now all this feels very invasive. Like WTF are you on about? And hey, first call for a potential date, why are you still lecturing me about raising my son ten minutes in?

“He’s not interested in being a part of the military.”

“Ooooh.” Very psychiatrist-like, that “Oh,” like a Big Secret has been Revealed.

“Well then, how about the Coast Guard, how about the New York City Police, how about…” I think I was able to stop him there, but whatever I said next started him in on “What is he planning to study in college?” And I told him. Linguistics.

Now he’s lecturing me about linguistics. Lecturing me. And it’s really pissing me off. My heart was actually pounding. He’s telling me what Arthur will need to know and what he should study and he has to start now and he has to do this and he’ll need to know that and he starts lecturing me about language groups and the Romans and the Visigoths and he won’t stop and it’s even worse than reading this run-on sentence because it’s loud and rapid and he just won’t fucking STOP and he somehow manages to tie in Arthur’s new job because in food service he’ll HEAR all these languages he’ll hear French and Spanish and Italian and German and HE STILL HASN’T STOPPED.

Then he asks me an actual question, about what Arthur’s career choices after college would be, and I mention academia as one, and he gets furious. Outraged. He must. stop. me. from making this grave error. Academics sucks! Academia isn’t the real world! Academics “preach” instead of “do”! My son must do! He must be driven!

At which point I actually did yell at the guy. Why is he lecturing me when he hasn’t asked a single question about my life or how I’ve raised my son? And he turned it around and made it like somehow it was my fault. Why should he ask questions? He was about the future! He didn’t need to ask about the past! And to prove it he first asked several obnoxious questions so now I’m also offended and I let him stop asking questions because he clearly doesn’t know how.

So then, to change the subject, he asked me about my garden, so I mentioned that my rosemary plant appeared to have died and it all started again. Now he was lecturing me about my garden. My rosemary Did! Not! Die! I just had to bury it and mulch it and coffee grinds are involved and earthworms are involved and he’s an Expert! on Gardening! He’s been Published! and would I like Pictures! of his Garden!

So I got off the phone. And I am now afraid to check that email account because there will be pictures. Shoot me now.