I remember as a youngster, my friends and I all went to the very first lawn party at Randwick Races. It was a great day – $120 that included all drinks and food. After prowling all the local Vinnies shops for the finest and most flamboyant outfit they could produce at my overall budget of $8.74, I arrived looking resplendent in my Zebra print jacket, peacocked my way to the bar and armed myself with two Bacardi Breezers.
Halfway through the watermelon flavoured one, I got a little bored of it. I threw it over my shoulder and tucked into the pineapple. The pineapple was quite delicious but when I got about three quarters of the way through, it got slightly warm so I, again, tossed this bottle over my shoulder and made my way to the bar to restock.
This pattern repeated itself throughout the day until the point where one of my wayward bottles inadvertently found its way to the cheek of one of our hardworking boys in blue. Despite my protestations I was merely trying to offer him a semi-warm drink to help him through his day, I was promptly marched to the gates where I narrowly avoided an assaulting a police officer charge and received a stern warning to make my way home post-haste as well as a polite request to put my pants back on.
This current culture of disposable dating, brought about by apps like Tinder, is much like my day at the races. Due to a perceived surplus of pre-paid and available stock, we feel we don’t really have to engage in any one particular flavour as there are always more available the moment one gets slightly warm. Most of the time it will also end with a polite request to put my pants back on and exit the premises post-haste.
One good thing about disposable dating is it does allow one to perfect a standard dating routine. I, personally, like to offer a particularly underwhelming experience full of awkward silences, holding in of farts and the inevitable headbutt as I go in for a goodnight kiss. This will, of course, be followed up by a meaningless text or two before we both mutually ghost each other and move on with our lives exactly as they were before. Just a casual carousel of emotionally unavailable people going around and around.
I like to consider myself a romantic. I feel my expectations of love have been ruined by movies. Pretty Woman, for example, promised me a street hooker with a heart of gold and all of her own teeth. When pursing this ultimate romance story, reality presented me with a different version – a stolen wallet, crabs and the teeth of a Souths supporter.
Recently I tried to move myself on from the disposable dating game. A funny thing happened – I became emotionally involved. It wasn’t any great thing and didn’t last too long but for the first time in years, I had feelings for someone other than myself. With my over-inflated ego and obvious awesomeness, I’ve always just assumed that if I made an effort, the receiving party would be so overwhelmed with gratitude they would all but worship the ground I walk on as they bake me endless cookies and bore their girlfriends to tears when they go to the toilet together as they start talking ad nauseum about how the Amazing John Bailey has selected them.
Just like with the movies, reality may have presented a slightly different picture.
It can be scary to actually open up and invest some of yourself into another person as you run the risk of finding out you are rather disposable yourself. All of a sudden, you are that slightly warm Pineapple Breezer being tossed aside for the chilled Strawberry and Coconut still waiting in the fridge. That’s the risk you have to take to find something meaningful. Dating is so much easier if there are no emotions involved but like the great man, Bruce Springsteen, said ‘I’d rather feel the hurt inside, than know, the emptiness your heart must hide’.
He was basically saying ‘Go on. Eat the figs’.
All The Figs 