Theatre of the Absurd

I have commented in the past about the difficulties of finding a gentleman friend in Lubbock. I can assure you that it is not for want of trying. I am assiduous about going to mixers, art events, and happy hours, not to mention informing everyone I know to be on the lookout for suitable men. So far, the result has been a series of strange encounters and baffling behaviours courtesy of the less-fair sex. The upside is that I now have many hilarious stories to tell, stories that flow into one another like a montage sequence in a romantic comedy where you watch the heroine go on a series of increasingly ridiculous dates. This sequence usually culminates in her exasperated plea "Why can't I meet a decent guy?!" I can't help but feel, however, that the romantic comedy I'm starring in really needs to get romantic sometime soon, or the audience is just going to get mad and demand a refund.

Just the other night I went to an event sponsored by "Lubbock Social" - a new group that is trying to establish networking opportunities for young professionals. Their first event was to be held in the garden courtyard at a local winery. Sounds promising, right? You would think so, but it is not so easy. The event was quite pleasant and I did talk to some nice people, and as it drew to a close, someone suggested that we all should go out and get a drink at another establishment. People started to make recommendations, and I noticed a pattern - the people in their 20s wanted to go to the (slightly) more sophisticated places in town (one of which, I'm happy to report, has finally figured out how to make a sidecar), while the single men in their 30s wanted to go to college bars. My analysis is that the 20-somethings were excited about being grownups and wished to celebrate by going to grownup establishments, while the men who are still single in their 30s want to embrace opportunities for immature behaviour. I sense that there is a causal relationship between this tactic and their continued bachelorhood.

One man in particular kept suggesting student dive bars, and the twenty-something woman next to me asked him why. He said "I have no intention of entering my 40s gracefully." I tried to prevent my eyes from visibly rolling, and asked "Are you near 40?" I was wondering, well, gee whiz, is it your birthday tomorrow or something? The conversation continued:

Him: No, I'm 36.

Me: 36 is actually quite a distance from 40.

Him: It doesn't feel like it!

Twenty-something woman (who means well, turns to me and asks): How old are you?

Me (thinking "thanks a lot, twenty-something"): Actually, I'm 36, and I expect I'll do a fair bit of living in the next four years.

Him: [Pause, then, loudly] Let's go to a bar so I can look at beautiful college girls!

I shared this story with a friend of mine, who observed "He is certainly succeeding in his plan to not age gracefully." Alas, this man is by no means unique. We eventually did go to a student bar - I decided to go because I figured being in public is a better bet than sitting alone in my living room. I had a lovely conversation with the twenty-something woman, who kept announcing loudly to the men in the group that I was far more interesting to talk to than any of them. This would be fine if we were lesbians, but we are not, so instead it is just depressing. This establishment had a mirror over the bar, and at one point in the evening I caught a glimpse of my reflection, along with the rest of the clientele. My first thought was "One of these things is not like the others. I am not among my people." (I was in New York last week, where I went to esoteric movies all day. The crowd at the art house? Those were my people.)

Now, you might think that my complaint is that the men of Lubbock are not interested in me. If only! There are men who are very much interested in me, however, they are best described as characters from Christopher Guest movies (Best in Show, Waiting for Guffman, This is Spinal Tap), which is my way of saying that they are too bizarre to be regarded as suitable. A prime example is The Librarian. The Librarian works for the University library, and he is the film studies "expert." He has a rather huge crush on me, but I can't avoid him entirely because not only is he the film librarian, and he is involved with every film activity in town (the film festival, campus film series, etc.) so I run into him fairly regularly. You might wonder, what is wrong with dating the film librarian? Wouldn't you have a lot in common? You would think that, but you'd be terribly wrong.

Let me offer an illustrative anecdote: We are both on the committee for the local film festival. During one of our festival events, he approached me and asked "Hey, do you want to see a picture of my girlfriend?" I was somewhat creeped out by this question, but in the spirit of collegiality I said "Sure!" He held up his phone and showed me a photograph of him holding a prairie dog. Mull that one over for a moment. Not only does the guy have an extensive collection of novelty neckties (a fashion choice that is only acceptable if you are a pediatrician), but his house is overrun with "pet" prairie dogs he has "rescued." May I remind my reader that prairie dogs are wild animals? Do you have any more questions?

This brings me to the events of Wednesday evening. I decided to go to a local movie theatre for a show called "Rifftrax," where the comedians who brought you Mystery Science Theatre 3000 (MST3K) provide running commentary over an old movie while it is broadcast live to theatres. For those of you who are unfamiliar with MST3K, it was a tv show where guys would make funny comments about cheesy movies. It was hilarious, and it has cultivated a substantial cult following. I have been to a few of these screenings in Lubbock, but this time I strategically arrived a couple of minutes late in the name of self-preservation. See, The Librarian recently edited an anthology on MST3K, so I felt certain that he would be there. I wanted to avoid running into him in the lobby, being invited to sit with him, etc.

I arrived just after the show started, and peered cautiously into the auditorium. I spotted a mostly-empty row and sat down, one seat away from a man who was by himself. I noted that he looked kind of cute, and thought about how I might strike up a conversation with him after the show (See? I'm ever vigilant!). About ten minutes later, the fire alarm went off. I realized that in all my years of constant film-going, I had never been in a theatre during a fire alarm. I was intrigued that the alarm consisted of both a noise and a row of strobe lights on the theatre walls. The lights are a good idea, since many film soundtracks are pretty much indistinguishable from sirens.

An announcement came over the PA system telling us to evacuate the cinema, forcing me to weigh my options. I could take the exit beside the screen, which would put me outside faster but which meant I would come into contact with more audience members and risk a Librarian encounter, or I could leave through the lobby, and increase my chances of speaking to Cute Guy. It occurred to me that while the prospect of an awkward conversation was lousy, it was probably better than being trapped in a fire, or, this being Texas, encountering the "active shooter" who might be taking out the teenagers at the concession stand in a meth-fueled rage. (An "active shooter" is what they call people who go on shooting rampages. I'm not sure what constitutes a "passive" shooter, but let's return to my story.) I headed for the quickest exit while trying to keep my eye on Cute Guy behind me, and scanning the crowd for Librarian. I felt like I was in some kind of terrible video game called "Single Intellectual Woman Coping in the Bible Belt" (SIWCIBB).

As I approached the door, I spotted Librarian coming down the stairs, but I was able to use the semi-darkness of the theatre to convincingly pretend not recognize him. I was pretty sure he had spotted me, so while people were loitering outside the door, I knew I couldn't safely stay there. I hustled around to the front of the building, figuring that everyone would eventually follow, but this way I would have tactical advantage because I could see them coming. I spent the next twenty minutes in the parking lot, maneuvering between pickup trucks for cover so I could remain invisible to the Librarian, but accessible to Cute Guy. Alas, Cute Guy turned out to be less cute in the daylight, so that didn't go anywhere. Still, it was neat to watch the fire trucks pull up. (You might be hoping that the romantic comedy I'm living in could have a scene involving sexy firefighters. Nope. In fact, shortly after I moved here, I did attempt to chat up some firefighters at the station near my house. My efforts failed, mainly because Mollie pooped on their lawn while they were in the midst of a landscaping project. Thanks a lot, Mollie.)

It seems there was a problem with a gas main, so the cinema would have to be closed for the night. I wanted to wait and see about the theatre's refund policy, but my loitering strategies had to become more sophisticated as time went on, since people were getting into their pickup trucks and driving away, thus leaving me with fewer hiding places. It was clear that I had advanced to level two of SIWCIBB. In the midst of all this, I spotted another man who was actually good looking in the daylight, and we had several moments of sustained eye contact. He seemed to be with his family (his mother and two sisters) and as I overheard their conversation, it was clear that they were major dorks. While that might sound like an insult, I say this with great affection. When I describe them as "dorks" I mean that they would be right at home at a Star Trek convention. I have been to a few conventions in my day, and I used to teach at an engineering school, so I know how to talk to this particular demographic and I can appreciate their charms. I struck up a conversation with one of the sisters, hoping that the guy would take the opportunity to speak to me. No luck. He quite literally hid behind his other sister the whole time. My forensic analysis is that either he was gay, or too much of a dork to talk to girls.

The cinema manager announced to the crowd that we would receive two free movie passes for our trouble. If I may continue my video game analogy, it's like I got two bonus "lives" to keep advancing to higher levels of gameplay, so the evening wasn't a total loss.