The Art and Science of Striking Out

She entered the restaurant without trepidation. Well, mostly. 

This was their third date, and he had asked her several times to pick a restaurant so they could celebrate her passing a notoriously tough licensing exam. When she at last suggested a mid-level Italian place on Whyte Ave, he'd responded, "Oh, you like pasta? Have you ever been to Campio? They make really good pizza."

Puzzled at the jump from pasta to pizza but encouraged by his enthusiasm, she'd agreed. They're both Italian, she supposed.

After they'd ordered their food, he asked what kind of music she liked. Having a deep affection for a broad range of musical styles, she began by saying her preferences are very mood dependent but framing it up in terms of live music, she mentioned her very first concert experience was Muse, but in the last year or so she had attended Charli XCX, Hozier and Noah Kahan, and she'd also gone to Edmonton's Folk Fest in past years.

When asked the same question, he said he also liked a variety of music, and showed her his phone's music player, adding, "the first two playlists are what I typically listen to."

Scanning the lists, she noted a lot of classic and classic-styled rock, and the list labelled 'Metal' contained everything from Lynrd Skynrd to Rob Zombie and Nickelback. Maybe someone else named the list, she thought. "Are you a metalhead?" she asked as she handed the phone back.

"Not really," he admitted. "I'm mostly a rock guy, to be honest."

"I like a fair bit of metal," she offered.  "Mostly power metal, but...do you know Rammstein?"

"Yeah, I know Rammstein."

"I went to their concert a few years ago with my dad and my sister and that was an amazing show; super fun."

He nodded, but was there a trace of smirk in his smile? "So you like Rammstein? What's your favourite song?"

Ignoring the soft sounds of a warning chime deep in her mind, she tried to formulate a succinct but fulsome answer. "Oh, that's too hard to pick - give me a second..." she replied, and began collating a short list in her head.

But before she could answer, he offered a suggestion: "Du Hast right? Probably?"

Taken a bit aback, and aware of the warning chimes increasing in frequency and volume, she replied, "umm, no, actually; I'm not sure that would even crack my top ten. It's a great song and all, and everyone knows it so it's great to hear live, but definitely not my favourite. At the concert, Sonne was the most fun."

Giving no indication he was familiar with that song, she sought to move on. Unlocking her own phone and calling up a list of liked tunes, she handed it over to him and said, "here is the kind of stuff I am listening to lately."

Scrolling through, a chuckle escaped his lips. "What?" she inquired, grinning. "Have I got something weird on there?"  (said knowing full well that she just might).

"No, no, it's nothing, just kinda funny..." he replied.

"What is?" she persisted.

"It's just, you know, this is kind of just... basic white girl music."

"OH." she said. She extended her hand for the phone, choosing, for the moment, to snooze alarm the warning chimes just as they got upgraded to bells.

Later on, the topic turned to travel, after his admission that he had never been out of Canada. "Oh," she brightened, thinking everyone has that bucket list. "So where would you like to go?"

"Oh, I dunno," he said, non-committally. "Probably somewhere warm, like Mexico."

"Ah, cool," she nodded. "I went there twice last year actually, but they were very different trips. Are you more a beachy, resort kind of guy, or would you rather stay in a city and check out all the local things and the culture?"

While not definitively derisive, his snorted chortle certainly underscored his response: "Pfft! Nah, yeah, I would go to a resort - I don't need to get 'cultured.'"

She took a sip of her drink while nodding, not trusting her expression, and muffled the bells that were now clanging like some sort of  incompatibility alarm. and the conversation drifted into safer territory for the remainder of what had just become their final date. 

 

When my youngest daughter shared this encounter with me last week, I found it to be an absolutely breathtaking tale of male cluelessness and an unmatched display of emotional non-intelligence. I asked for her permission to blog about it and she all too willingly granted it. This afternoon she agreed to relate it to me again so I could be sure I had all the facts correct and in the right order.

After she re-related the incident to me (and introduced the restaurant choice element, which I had missed), I shook my head and requested a final clarifying confirmation:

"And to be clear," I inquired, "this fellow who strongly implied you were 'basic,' is the same individual that you took to the 80 Flavours ice cream stand..."

"Mm-hmm..."

"...and he ordered vanilla?"

Eyes wide, "Yeah," she affirmed.

"Pink flag for next time?" I suggested.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Should've known. And musical tastes are getting addressed way earlier from here on out."