The Hinge Experiment: Missing Me Is Missing, and Gina Is on the Clock
It's time for another episode of The Hinge Experiment™, where I continue attempting to understand how two adults who supposedly joined a dating app eventually get to the part where they actually...
DATE.
I know. Radical concept.
We have a departure, a returning character, and another bold move from yours truly.
Missing Me Is Now Officially... Missing
Let's start with Missing Me.
I unmatched her.
I think the appropriate statute of limitations has expired.
We had discussed going out. She said Sunday could work. I suggested a place. I gave her my number. Sunday came and went. I followed up afterward.
Nothing.
At some point, you have to stop staring at the microwave waiting for something to cook when there isn't any food inside it.
So, I unmatched.
There is no anger. No hard feelings. No dramatic breakup montage accompanied by an Adele song.
Besides, she has my number.
If she wants to reach me, she can.
If she doesn't?
That's an answer too.
And thus concludes the Missing Me Era of The Hinge Experiment.
She came.
She matched.
She almost dated.
She disappeared.
Frankly, the screenwriters could have given that character a better ending.
Meanwhile... Remember Gina?
Gina actually predates Missing Me in the Hinge Cinematic Universe.
We've communicated sporadically, but we're still stuck in that strange dating-app purgatory where two people have matched and occasionally exchange words without getting anywhere near an actual date.
Yesterday morning, I asked:
“Good morning, Gina! Whatcha up to today? Are you available this weekend?”
She responded!
She was traveling to a 9 o'clock meeting in Shallotte.
Look at that!
INFORMATION!
A location.
An activity.
A complete sentence!
Naturally, I wished her a safe drive and asked what the meeting was for.
Later that evening, I followed up:
“How was your meeting?”
And today I decided enough was enough.
It was time for another bold maneuver.
I Asked for the Number
Yep.
I sent:
“What's your number?”
That's it.
No essay.
No speech.
No Morse Code.
No interpretive dance.
No 17-part explanation of why exchanging phone numbers might eventually facilitate two adults meeting somewhere for food.
What's your number?
Four words.
I'm trying to move this thing along.
I'd like to talk.
I'd like to get off the app.
And ultimately, I'd like to go on an actual date.
Remember dates?
Two people meet at a predetermined location at approximately the same time.
They sit down.
They talk.
Perhaps they eat.
Nobody ghosts anybody halfway through appetizers.
At least that's how I remember them.
Gina Is Now on the Clock
I'm not expecting an immediate response.
People work.
People have families.
People travel to meetings in Shallotte.
People have lives that don't revolve around checking Hinge every seven minutes to see whether some bald guy has asked another question.
I understand that.
But I'm also changing my approach to this experiment.
I'm not collecting matches.
I don't care whether my profile says I have one match, ten matches, or 100 matches.
A match that never becomes a conversation isn't particularly useful.
And a conversation that never progresses toward meeting isn't really what I'm looking for either.
So I'll give Gina a few days.
If something comes of it?
Fantastic.
Let's exchange numbers.
Let's talk.
Let's make a plan.
Let's meet.
If nothing happens?
Another match will be removed.
No drama.
No hostility.
Just...
Next.
Maybe That's the Lesson
I'm beginning to think online dating requires a strange combination of patience and knowing when to stop being patient.
You have to give people time.
But you also can't spend three weeks trying to extract a conversation from someone like you're interrogating a hostile witness.
“How was your day?”
Silence.
“What are you doing this weekend?”
Silence.
“Would you like to go out?”
Silence.
“What's your number?”
At some point I'm going to need a desk lamp, a windowless room, and two detectives playing good cop/bad cop.
I'm looking for someone who actually wants to participate.
Someone who asks questions back.
Someone who wants to talk.
And, eventually, someone who wants to meet.
That doesn't seem unreasonable on an app specifically designed for people to meet each other.
But I've been wrong before.
Current Hinge Standings
Kelli: Gone.
Missing Me: Officially unmatched. She has my number if she ever changes her mind.
Gina: Still alive! The latest pitch has been thrown:
“What's your number?”
Now we wait.
Again.
But only for a few days.
And somewhere, probably stretched out in a tiny imaginary beach chair wearing sunglasses, Steve the Iguana is watching this entire experiment unfold.
He's beginning to look awfully confident.
Don't get comfortable, Steve.
But...
keep Sunday open.
