Social Not-working

I am sitting in the Dancing Blueberries café, nibbling away at the salad I’ve ordered as an excuse to have their scrumptious Dutch apple pie for dessert, when a young couple approach the table beside me. He is a sturdy man with the knife-blade nose and heavy eyelids I associate with Korean or Mongolian ancestry. She has the just-this-side-of-emaciated physique favored by bulimics and runway models, dramatically displayed by a (very) little black dress and a clutter of chunky jewelry. They are both clutching cell phones.

As they take their seats, she glances toward my table. Her eyebrows engage in a short conflict of emotions as pity (for me) attempts to pull them down while relief (that she is not in this situation herself) tugs them up. Embarrassment performs a flanking maneuver on her eyelids and she quickly cuts her gaze away. I know this look. I once wore it myself when encountering solitary, elderly diners in white-linen restaurants. Her pity is wasted on me, though. After decades of practice, I’m quite comfortable eating alone and no longer feel the need to hide out at the back of Burger King with a whopper and fries when I don’t feel like cooking. I take another bite of designer greens dressed in raspberry vinaigrette and go back to reading about the formation of the Han Dynasty in John Keay’s wonderful A History of China.     

My eyes have barely repositioned themselves on the page when the man’s phone rings. It has one of those aggressive rap ringtones set to a deafening decibel level. He could be hard of hearing, but I think it more likely he just wants everyone within a half-mile radius to know how cool he is. He allows the phone, a hefty Blackberry, to keep rapping while he reads the caller ID before deciding not to answer it.

The waitress delivers menus to their table and starts asking what they’d like to drink. She is interrupted by the opening bars of Für Elise, played on what sounds like an xylophone, emanating from the woman’s blood-red iPhone. It’s a text message, and obviously one of great importance, because it requires an immediate response. The woman taps away at the screen keyboard with long thumbnails that are the exact same color as her phone. The waitress turns her attention to the man, but another burst of rapping snags his attention, and he too begins texting.

Just as I insert a forkful of shredded beets and carrots into my mouth, the waitress decides to fill in her wait time by asking me how I like my salad. (I used to think “Bad Timing” was a required credit at the Waiter’s Academy, until a waitress friend pointed out that people go to restaurants to eat, which pretty much guarantees their mouths will be full most of the time they are in one.) We chat until social networking has subsided at the next table and she can take their drink orders.

The ringing and texting, interspersed with bouts of web surfing by the woman as she waits for her dinner companion to finish texting, continues throughout the rest of my meal. At first I find this annoying - mostly the ringtones, since texting and surfing are silent activities. But then I become intrigued. I stop trying to read my book, but keep it open to pretend I’m reading, while I listen to the couple at the next table. (I do not consider it eavesdropping if one is in a public place and people are speaking loudly enough to be overheard without the listener having perform any overt gesture, such as cupping an ear or leaning closer, to make out the words.)  In the intervals when both parties are available to converse, I hear enough to determine they don’t know much about each other and deduce they are probably on a first date.

Now, I’m the first person to admit times change and usually for the better. But in the case of dating, I’m not convinced we’re making progress here.

Admittedly, a cell phone and an active social network are excellent devices for avoiding the awkwardness of a first date. Back in the Stone Age, when I found myself sharing a bistro table with some less-than-promising troglodyte I met through a friend-of-a-friend, I certainly would have welcomed any excuse to ignore him. But I can’t help wondering: how do romantic relationships between the socially-networked develop? Do they friend each other on Facebook, or read each other’s blogs to learn what they haven’t got time to talk about? What is the new etiquette of sex? Should the question “was it good for you?” be tweeted or texted from one side of the bed to the other?

I finish my pie and coffee, close my book and get up to leave. The woman casts a last, pitying half-smile at me. I toss her one right back. After all, I’m not the one who got all dressed up to be ignored.