Not only a captain of the high seas and breakfast foods, but also of mixed messages, Captain Optimum was utterly perplexing. He showed up sans eye patch and parrot, and – if nothing else – delivered in the looks department, resembling Heath Ledger, in fact, but with a fuller chin and jawline than our dearly departed. He countered my handshake with an unsolicited peck on the cheek, then lamented that it seemed foolish to eat our own cereal in a place with so many other options.
Great, this again.
I reassured him that I wasn’t going to force him to eat cereal and, if he preferred, he was free to get something else, but I would be eating my cereal.
“No, I came to eat cereal.”
Okay then.
So down he sat and from his bag he pulled a metal canister full of Optimum, a bowl, a spoon that bordered on ladle, a napkin, a knife, a cutting board, a mango, an apple the size of a softball, a pear, and two pluots.
Okay Captain Uncomfortable, it doesn’t bother me, but there are ways to be a little more discreet about bringing your breakfast to the Farmers Market than by hand-carving your own fruit hybrids. (And on that note, he erroneously referred to these crossbreeds as “plutos.” I didn’t correct him but this always introduces an inner conflict for me – in such a situation, is it best to just let the error pass into oblivion, as I usually do? Or am I denying my intelligence, my own base of knowledge, by ignoring it? Is it preferable to have others think you uninformed, or to be that person who points out meaningless mistakes? It’s a plum-apricot combo, man, not a demoted former planet. Why does my knowing that have to cause me struggle?)
Ironically, Captain Optimum did not bring, in his bottomless bag, any milk – or cash – and had to borrow two bucks to get some. Once adequately dairied, I pulled out Sammy for its inaugural meal and excitedly showcased its many features. Captain Indecipherable looked at me, entirely unimpressed, and asked how many of these dates I’d been on, and if I’d seen any of the guys again.
“Um…a few. And no, but not for their lack of interest.”
And then, with a look of either utter amusement or total condescension – an expression I could not figure out but nonetheless would become very familiar with:
“You’re very proud of your quirks, aren’t you?”
Fuck you.
“It’s only this one thing. I’ll be normal from here out, I promise.”
“No, I’m quirky too.”
What?
Promptly forgetting my single-quirk promise, I asked to photograph our bowls. I seriously thought he might get up and leave. He caved after learning that he didn’t have to be in the picture, then delivered on his quirky declaration by offering me a bite of his cereal.
“Would that be weird?” I asked.
“No. I come from a large family.”
I didn’t realize the two were related, but whatever. I took a bite; it was pretty good.
Captain Contradiction was not terribly conversational, yet it was his voice that filled much of our 90-minute meeting. He was slow to answer questions, but would then provide much more information than I’d sought. For example, when I queried about his interests and what makes him laugh, he wouldn’t answer; when I said I was just “trying to get a picture” of who he was, he made some gesture around his face and said, as though it were an explanation, “I’m right here.”
Yeah, I got that. Thanks.
But then he went on to tell me about his childhood on welfare, his hippie mom and 5 sisters from 3 different dads, and his 24-year old ex-girlfriend and how he can’t really stand to be around people under the age of 25 because they’re too scared to go after what they want. (That’s why they broke up; he figured I was going to ask what happened with the relationship. It hadn’t occurred to me. Frankly, I didn’t much care. More disconcerting was that I couldn’t discern if he was grouping me and my 26 years with that younger sect, or his own.)
Despite a love of kids, dogs, and karaoke bars, and a history of getting paid to dance at bar mitzvahs and sweet 16s, Captain Optimum came off as somewhat cynical and jaded – an attitude I would classify as “benignly bitter.” He came out to LA as an actor, but was turned off of it after seeing the way actors are treated out here. People look down on them. But then again, admittedly, so does he, so he understands. He’ll still take a job, though, when he gets one.
He gave off the distinct impression that he was disinterested or bored, but every time that thought occurred to me, he would coolly say something like, “I’m 31, if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”
Ya wanna stop glancing at your watch, then?
He also didn’t ask any questions about me (which I don’t mind, but do find a bit odd). His conversation-halting contributions did include, however, “You have a good name,” (Uh, thanks? I had nothing to do with it, but I like it.) and “You have long fingers” (to which, I assure you, there is no good response. Other than maybe displaying for him my favorite one).
After catching Captain Optimum check the time yet again, I started to wrap things up.
“So you don’t want to go to the beach?”
What? No, not really. Do you?
And then he asked if we would have to eat cereal “next time,” kissed me again, and caressed my arm with an inappropriate amount of affection. What is going on here? Were we on the same date? Did I miss something? He somehow managed to appear simultaneously totally into me and disinterested in me. Passively cocky, if you can imagine. And it felt kind of dirty. It was the first time I left a Cereal Date with a bad taste in my mouth. (Maybe it was that bite of his cereal I took. Perhaps that's what Optimum does to you. Lesson learned.)
Nevertheless, I got an email the next day:
“do you have another cereal date tonight or could I tempt you with an after work sail? xox”
First of all, swimming in satisfaction over here after you so obnoxiously indicated that a guy couldn’t possibly want to see me again after witnessing my excitement over a cereal bowl. And second of all – Yeah, like I’m going to get on a boat with you. Alone. Sounds like a good way to get myself raped, if you ask me.
I declined, citing my tendency to shy away from activities on “school nights.”
Then the next day:
“will I see you again?”
Survey says…
