The Hinge Experiment: Four Hours, 250 Miles, Brussels Sprouts and a Mug
Well, it happened.
After all the matches that went nowhere, conversations that disappeared, unanswered messages, unmatches, an empty Hinge inbox, jokes about deleting the app, and Steve the Iguana patiently waiting for me to abandon dating altogether…
I went on an actual first date.
With Airica.
And I have some numbers.
Four hours.
About 250 miles of driving.
Brussels sprouts.
A half-and-half—which I learned is half sweet tea and half unsweetened tea. I thought Airica was getting an Arnold Palmer.
Shrimp & grits.
A ribeye, medium-well.
A walk for candy.
Some laughs.
Some transparency.
More laughs.
And…
A mug.
Yes, a mug.
And somehow, that mug feels like a significant development in The Hinge Experiment™.
My First First Date With a Parting Gift
This may have been the first first date where I left with something other than a broken heart, cash out of pocket to help someone pay her rent, or an overwhelming need to review some of my life decisions.
This time?
I left with a mug, a full belly, and a smile on my face.
Progress!
Before the Date, I Tried to Get Us on Dateline
Full transparency.
Yesterday morning, before Airica and I had ever actually met in person, I asked her if she wanted to take a drive with me to Tampa Bay to watch the Yankees play.
There were tickets available.
I didn't want to go alone.
Seemed perfectly reasonable to me.
Apparently, from the perspective of a woman who has never met this man before, getting into his car for at least seven hours is a slightly different proposition.
She was confused.
Concerned.
Cautious.
She may have considered that accepting this invitation could eventually land her on an episode of Dateline.
I get it.
Although, come on.
A bald dude with one leg, failing kidneys, and eyes that don't work particularly well?
I'd be skeptical, too.
Maybe the real concern should have been whether I'd wake up in a bathtub full of ice with a bunch of stitches and discover that the few functioning organs I have left had been harvested.
There isn't much good inventory here, Airica.
Either way, Tampa was wisely removed from the agenda.
We decided to start with lunch.
She Still Didn't Tell Me Where She Lives
I arrived at our meeting location in Columbia.
And no, at this point I apparently had not yet achieved "You May Know Where I Live" status.
Also understandable.
I did, however, get a nice hug.
I'll take it.
Then we headed into downtown Columbia.
I've been around there before because of a failed job interview.
See? Everything happens for a reason.
I didn't get the job, but years later I knew how to get downtown for a Hinge date.
Career development.
Airica picked The Grand, and it turned out to be a great choice.
The food was awesome, the place had a nice feel, and the company was fantastic.
There was only one problem.
I couldn't see a darn thing.
Nothing Says "Smooth" Like Almost Falling on Your Butt
The Grand was dimly lit.
Maybe romantically lit.
With my eyesight?
Basically a cave.
They showed us to a nice, almost circular booth.
I went to sit down.
I misjudged exactly where the seat was.
And for one brief, beautiful moment, gravity attempted to bring me as close to the floor as physically possible.
Now, over the years, I’ve wondered what makes a man appear smooth and confident on a first date.
Apparently it's almost completely missing the point.
Ladies, try to control yourselves.
Somehow, I recovered.
Physically, at least.
In my head?
I'm burnt toast.
Date over.
Thank you for playing.
Please collect your complimentary mug on the way out.
Except…
It wasn't.
Then We Just Talked
We ordered food.
Brussels sprouts.
Shrimp & grits.
A ribeye cooked medium-well.
And the mysterious half & half.
When Airica ordered it, I thought she meant an Arnold Palmer.
Nope.
Half sweet tea.
Half unsweetened tea.
I learned something new.
More importantly, we talked.
And talked.
And talked.
There really wasn't an awkward silence.
Well, except when we were actually eating, which I think is acceptable first-date behavior.
I assume.
I don't really know what people are supposed to talk about on first dates because I haven't had many of these recently.
But we figured it out.
If we're being statistically accurate, Airica probably did about 60% of the talking.
Which means I did 40%.
Yes, I know.
For anyone who knows me, that may be the most unbelievable part of this entire story.
I Got to Know Airica
I learned a lot.
I learned about what Airica wants to be when she grows up.
I learned about her passions.
I learned more about her life and why she is where she is.
And by "where she is," I mean Columbia, South Carolina.
Because obviously Columbia is the hippest place in the entire universe.
Why wouldn't someone want to be there?
The more we talked, the more things we seemed to have in common.
Of course, there are some important differences.
She's female.
She has two functioning kidneys.
She has a full head of hair.
Show-off.
But we both have bad eyesight.
CHECK!
Finally, common ground.
Then She Yawned
Airica had already had a longer-than-normal day, and eventually I caught a few yawns.
Message received.
I told her it was time to get her back.
Preferably with all of her original body parts still attached so she could report to everyone that she had survived her encounter with the one-legged Hinge guy.
But she wasn't ready to leave.
She wanted candy.
Wait. What?
The date continues?
Apparently I hadn't completely screwed this up.
The 200-Foot Second Act
We walked about 200 feet to a general store that smelled like leather and sandalwood.
We bought candy.
I went with saltwater taffy.
Airica selected an assortment of gummy concoctions.
Nothing extravagant.
Nothing complicated.
Just walking around, getting candy and continuing the conversation.
And I liked that.
Eventually, we made our way back to her car.
There was a great hug.
A kiss on the cheek.
And then I started the long drive home.
And Then My Phone Started Getting Updates
On the drive back, I heard from her.
She updated me that she hadn't taken a nap.
She asked how far away I was.
And apparently…
I may be getting a Boo Basket.
I don't know exactly where a Boo Basket ranks in the traditional progression of modern courtship, but I'm assuming it's somewhere between:
"I don't hate you"
and
"You may eventually be permitted to know where I live."
I'll take it.
I also let her know that I opened the gift she'd given me.
The mug.
And yes, Airica knows I'm writing this.
See?
I'm learning.
So… Will There Be a Second Date?
That's the question.
I heard on the TikkyTokky that a first date is basically an audition to see whether you get a second date.
If that's true, my audition included nearly falling onto the floor, misunderstanding a tea order, discussing my collection of medical problems, and making jokes about organ harvesting.
Strong performance.
But here's what I know.
I drove roughly 250 miles.
We spent about four hours together.
There was good food.
There was candy.
There were serious conversations.
There was transparency.
There were laughs.
There were more laughs.
There wasn't that uncomfortable feeling of trying to manufacture conversation.
And when I got back into my car, I was smiling.
That's enough for today.
I'm glad we met.
I'm glad she didn't take me up on Tampa for our first meeting.
I'm glad neither of us ended up on Dateline.
And I'm particularly glad that after everything I've written about dating over the past few months, I finally got to write this:
The Hinge Experiment produced an actual date.
A good one.
Now I wait.
Will there be a second?
Will I get the callback?
Will there really be a Boo Basket?
Will I eventually reach the coveted "You Can Know Where I Live" level?
I have no idea.
But for the first time in this experiment, I don't need to make a joke about an empty Hinge inbox.
I left with a mug, a full belly, and a smile on my face.
I'd say that's a pretty damn good first date.
Stay tuned.
Steve the Iguana may need to cancel his plans.
