Singles’ events. Not romance. Not hook-ups. Just meeting new people. Nudging serendipity.
I have people. Nothing wrong with more people. Not as in collecting friends and followers on social networking. Face to face meeting.
The Californian beside me had no local network. No one to discover her dead body until the smell coming from her apartment alerted her neighbors. I laughed with her saying that my roommates will stop my body from beginning that return to the earth before funeral preparations.
This meeting was advertised for singles of a certain age. 70 and up says the organizer. Over 60 a woman chimes. Is she too young at 57? I said I thought age 50. AARP eligibility. Senior moment. We of the certain age like to joke of senior moments as if younger people do not forget or get confused.
We played 1950s trivia. Men won. One joked he knew the answers because he lived through the answers. Next: movie trivia. These were buffs. Will someone join me for a showing of The Shape of Water?
We ended as all nascent movements. Trying to find purpose and footing. Details kill. Lunch on a weekday? “No, I work.” How about a Sunday? “Only if there’s no game.” Olive Garden? Primanti’s? Uno? “It doesn’t really matter. Except I don’t really like Olive Garden. There’s a senior discount at Uno on Wednesday’s.” How about a show? “How much would it be? Would we all go to the same movie?”
Someone mentioned Meet-Ups. A couple of ears tune for that. The Californian and Midwesterner on my other side seem interested. Darn. I was feeling potential in them.
Would it be wrong for me to ghost this group next month? They have my phone number. If someone calls, I could just quote Marx. Not Karl. Groucho. I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.