Swipe Right III (Audio Script)

Stories

Being five minutes late is fine.

Totally forgivable.

I think a lot of people actually consider five minutes late to be on time.

Fifteen minutes late is a little annoying, but forgivable with a courtesy text.

Forty-five minutes late with no text, no notice of any kind… well, that’s grounds for having your number deleted.

I can’t think of a single time I’ve ever been straight-up ghosted like this before.

I check my phone one last time, just to make sure I didn’t, I don’t know, miss a text in the app or something.

But… nope.

Nothing.

Asshole.

Well, I guess it was bound to happen eventually.

I was on a really good streak with my last two dates, so maybe I should’ve expected to have a little bad luck with this one.

I think that German guy I hooked up with lives close to here…

I wonder if he’s free tonight.

Maybe I should text him.

Despite my plans for the night suddenly getting canceled, I can’t really bring myself to leave.

I actually like this bar a lot.

I come here pretty often and it’d be sad if I start to associate it with that place I got stood up.

It’s kind of cozy, honestly.

Dark and snug, vaguely tiki-themed with kitschy floral-pattern couches and vintage photos of faraway beaches all over the place.

And my favorite bartender, the cute one, is the only one working tonight.

Oh man, I should probably just go home.

“You want another one?”

“Sorry?”

“Another round?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Well… I just… I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be here.”

“Waiting for someone?”

“Yes?”

“Okay?”

“Sorry.

I… think I’ve been stood up.

It’s not confirmed, but looking pretty likely.

So…”

“Ah, damn.

Happens to the best of us.”

“Yeah?

Does it really?

It’s a first for me and I’m having kind of a hard time accepting it.”

“Oh, yeah.

Definitely.

It builds character.”

“Okay, well… in that case.

Yeah, I’ll take another.”

“I’ll make you something special to mark the occasion.

Hold tight.”

I watch you drift over to the shelves of liquor and pull down a couple of half-filled bottles.

There’s an ease to your movements as you tip the bottles into the shaker.

It’s like you’re not even thinking about what you’re doing.

The quick flicks of your fingers as you peel twists of lime and dash bitters straight out of the bottle seem like muscle memory for you.

Hm.

Cute bartender making me a special drink.

I’m starting to feel a little less shitty about being stood up.

It’s hard to tell if you’re subtly hitting on me or if you’re just doing what bartenders do, which is talk to their customers and get them to drink.

“Here you go.

This is the ‘fuck that guy’ special.

It’s free if you have any reason to say fuck that guy.”

“Thank you.

This helps ease the pain a little bit.”

“Good.”

Your eyes linger on mine as I take my first sip.

My stomach flips a little when I set my glass down and you don’t look away.

I feel like you’re studying me, maybe trying to make a decision about what kind of person I am.

You were sort of stoic and serious when I first walked in, or at least that’s what I thought, but maybe you’re just someone who has to be warmed up a little.

“So, your night is suddenly wide open it seems.

What does one do after getting stood up?”

“I’ve been thinking about that for the last half-hour.

Seems like I have a few options.”

“Yeah?

What are they?”

“One, I cut my losses, call it a night, and go home with a slightly bruised ego.”

“Okay.

Or?”

“Two, I call my Plan Bs and see if I can salvage the night with a last-minute booty call.”

“Right.

I’m sensing a third option.”

“Three, I sit back and… see what comes my way.

Maybe something, maybe nothing, but… I’ll let the universe decide that.”

“Hm.

I kind of like that last one.

Hold on a sec. Hey folks.

What’re you having?”

You pull back and wander over to the other end of the bar where a couple of older guys have sat down.

I watch you work quickly, efficiently.

You grab two glasses and fill them up beneath two different draft taps at the same time.

I can tell you’ve been doing this for a while, bartending.

“Okay, sorry about that.

Customers, you know.

They’re so needy.”

“Don’t let me and my dating woes distract you.”

“Well, I’m just kind of intrigued by this idea.

About seeing what comes your way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, the idea of fate, you know.

There’s no such thing as coincidences, that sort of thing.”

“Wow.

Pretty romantic ideas there.”

“Romantic, yeah.

I guess so.

Also a little lazy.”

“How so?”

“I can rationalize anything that happens—or doesn’t happen—by saying it was fate.

Sleep in late by accident and lose my job, must have been fate.

Car breaks down and I meet my future wife on the bus.

Fate.

It’s like a get out of jail free card.”

“Ooh, I might have to steal that.

It’s much better than my life philosophy.”

“Which is?”

“Overthink and overanalyze everything until I’m paralyzed by crippling anxiety.”

“Well, whatever works for you, but… sounds a little bit stressful.”

You pull your towel down from your shoulder and rub an invisible stain on the bar.

I think you’re just trying to keep your hands busy.

Or maybe you’re looking for a reason to keep hanging around me.

Something about your smile makes me feel like you’re hiding something.

Like you have a secret you want to share with me, but you can’t.

“Do you think it’s fate that I got stood up here tonight?”

“I was kind of wondering about it, yeah.

Especially since… I’m closing up early.”