Unbroken Glass

I could have been famous, I could have married this guy and be a wife of a celebrity, sort of. Sounds good hey?

I was in South Africa, about a year and a half ago.
All in all, I had a great time, went on a few shidduchim, got an exceptionally good tan, and drank a couple of beers.
Two days before I was leaving, I got a call from a supposedly good friend of mine. Supposedly, because…

I have a great shidduch for you this time, she said excitedly. Wonderful guy, lots of personality.
THAT should have started the warning bells ringing.
But I continued listening.
He’s tall, friendly, a real iluy…
I said – but I’m going home in two days.
Stay another week, she cried! This guy is worth it!
I decided to give it a shot. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, etc…
Who was I to judge?

We agreed to meet at a coffee-shop on Saturday night.
I got there a few minutes early, and decided to get a table – but of course, it being Motzei Shabbos, and Johannesburg being what it is, with its limited – and I use that word expansively – number of coffee shops – there were no empty tables, and I had to stand.
Feeling a little foolish, I watched the people coming in and out of the restaurant.
For thirty minutes.
All of a sudden my attention was diverted by a guy who walked in, who looked somehow exactly like George Costanza.
Hmmm, I thought. I wonder who that is.
Could it be – the REAL George Costanza?
At no point did it ever cross my mind that that guy was in any way connected to me and what I was doing there that night.

I stood and watched him, and all of a sudden I realised that he was coming closer. And closer.
Alot closer.
Until he was standing directly opposite me.
Hmmm, I thought. In a very detached way. I wonder why he’s standing there.
All of a sudden – and very slowly – my brain began to piece together a few vital things.
I was there.
Waiting for a guy.
Who my friend had said ‘has lots of personality’.
And there, standing across from me, was a guy who was probably always
described as ‘having lots of personality’.
The penny dropped.
I wanted to cry.
This guy did not reach my shoulders.
When he realised that I had realised why he was there, he smiled.
I smiled – gamely.
This time I almost did cry.
He introduced himself, and prompted me to introduce myself – by that stage I could barely speak – and bustled about getting us a table.
It took about another thirty minutes.

We sat down. Ordered coffee. He talked.
I kept quiet. And thought – Does he KNOW he looks exactly like George Costanza? I mean, has this guy ever watched Seinfeld?
Is he merely acting like he’s not completely self-conscious?
And if so, why is he TALKING like George Costanza? Doesn’t he want to divert the attention AWAY from this glaring fact?

The evening was not a success.
And when he insisted on driving me home, which he did, I realized that he was almost certainly from a country where they drove ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD.
He drove, almost the entire time, in the lane for ONCOMING TRAFFIC.
But by then, I was tired.
Too tired.
I just didn’t care.

He dropped me off, and said gayly, So when should I pick you up?
Tomorrow’s good for you?
My head screamed NO but I merely said, in a very controlled voice, Sorry, I’m leaving for Israel tomorrow night. What a pity.

And a pity it was.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, April 24th, 2002 at 6:15 pm and is filed under She. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.