After a much needed Datebook vacation, I am officially back in business. I needed a breather to recover from Saturday’s much-anticipated singles, bartending function.
Let me first begin by saying, that I had fully prepared myself for the adventure that was Saturday evening. I figured that if I didn’t meet some fun singletons, I would at least learn to bartend. I think it would be fair to say that both goals were an epic fail.
Not only did I not meet anyone (a) Under 35 or (b) Any MEN over 5 foot 8, I also failed to learn to make any drink with more than 2 ingredients. Important to note also, was the lack of bartending. We were actually watching demo’s and then “mingling” with our drinks. I use the term “mingle” loosely as “mingling” suggests mutual conversation and a vested interest in others…
Instead, the room was a mixed pot of strangers, all of whom seemed thoroughly unimpressed, scrounging to drink all the demo drinks they could get their hands on. I also use “get their hands on” loosely, as this would require hands to be free. I have never seen so many crossed arms and pocket diggers in my entire life.
But, as with every good awkward situation, born is an opportunity to make an adventure. And that I did.
Enter “Todd” the event coordinator: The apple of my eye for the evening and the only person off-bounds at the event. I think Todd was probably largely mediocre in both looks and personality, but compared to the rest of the room, he was George Clooney.
Sensing my discomfort, Todd was phenomenal at finding the extra demo drinks and sending them my way. I’m not sure, but I think that’s what love looks like… Unfortunately I will never know any more about Todd, as when the night drew near to an end, I ceased the opportunity to sneak away unseen (with my really tall shadow).
My really tall shadow, in fact, garnered what could be considered my small victory of the evening (at least for a bit). I officially discovered an underground city subculture, The Toronto Tall Club. A tall woman at the event (6ft), obviously not noticing my heels and sensing a common ground, approached me to chat. Literally, all I could think of as she was talking to me was how much of a giant I feel like in Toronto at 5 foot 9. How must she feel? Turns out, not great.
So as our conversation went on, I was officially invited to the Tall Club of TO. The TC is full of tall women and men looking for their tall match. The thing that was most interesting to me, was the fact that tall men would be desperately seeking tall women. Being increasingly buzzed and slowly losing my sensor, I just had to ask. Why, why, why?
Turns out, the answer is equal parts fascinating and hilarious. With an absolute straight face, tall girl looked at me and said, “Their necks… they hurt.” And that was that.
I really tried to keep the Lychee Martini in my mouth and not snort into my nose, but damn, it was tough. I was drowning on the inside.
If things ended here, I would have felt pretty good about being invited (at least symbolically, would never attend) to a secret society. The sad, sad truth however, is that the invite was soon retracted. As I got up from my stool, tall girl looked down at my feet in utter horror. With furrowed brow and bitter disappointment she looked accusingly at me and asked,
“How tall are you?”
“5 foot 9.” I replied enthusiastically.
”Oh. (insert dejection here) That’s too bad. Tall club is only for women 5 foot 10 and taller. Men must be 6 foot 2. It’s kind of our thing…”
And so just like that, the surface reason for my Datebook vacation. Rejection has been rampant these last few weeks but this really took the cake. I was officially rejected from a rejection club. Still nursing the wounds…