I tell my cousin that I’ve joined Tinder and, I kid you not, the first thing he tells me is that it’s not the place I’m going to find my wife.
So now I hope I do, entirely out of spite.
And because I believe in healthy relationships, clearly.
My cousin goes on to tell me that most people on Tinder are there because they have too much baggage. He tells me I may get a couple of first dates out of it (which would be a couple more than I’ve ever had), but that’s about it.
I tell him that’s fine. I can handle baggage. I’ve got some too. We can spend those first dates comparing package sizes.
After my profile has been meticulously created, edited, re-edited, edited once more and then edited again, I’m finally ready to start judging people entirely based on a couple of photos and a paragraph.
Bring it on, real world dating.
The one thing no one ever warns you about Tinder is how immensely satisfying it is to judge people based on appearance. With a simple flick of the wrist you can send another person into oblivion, never to be heard from again with a big red “NOPE” stamp across their face.
Unflattering picture? NOPE! Bad angle? NOPE! Look like you’re way out of my league? NOPE! 
I assume this is how all the pretty girls in my high school felt all the time.
It. Is. Awesome.
It’s instantaneous satisfaction! And it’s okay, because I know a whole bunch of people (see: nearly all of them) are doing it to me. There’s so much power! This must be what it’s like to fire people for a living. You know, without the uncomfortable crying (well, some crying – why won’t anyone love me?!?)
Is it weird that not matching always seems to sting more when they’re better looking?
That feels pretty shallow…Which means…I must be doing this right! Who’s next?!
After more time than I’d like to admit, I finally get that friendly little alert that tells me I’ve matched with someone – the digital equivalent of making eye-contact in a bar, and equally terrifying.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
I mean, I don’t have any lines. I’ve never even approached a woman in a bar before (that’s true, sadly), except once. Where, after seeing the woman for a serendipitous 5th time of the day and embarrassingly specific urging from my group of friends I tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me – I don’t do this often – but, you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life and can I please, please, please by you a drink.”
After several uncomfortable seconds (possibly minutes, or even hours, I wasn’t exactly checking my watch at the time) she took be by the hand to the bar across the street. Unfortunately I don’t think that will ever work again, and Tinder is a bit too digital to take anyone by the anything, and so I’m stuck.
Luckily, I matched with a girl who doesn’t mess around, and she contacts me first.
And she says to me: Hi there, I haven’t seen you on here before! I’m a little drunk, have a father issue – are you looking for great anonymous sex with no strings attached? Click this link [tinyurl].
That’s an awfully complex question to ask someone right off the bat. I mean, I don’t think I’m not looking for great anonymous sex with no strings attached. On the surface that seems like something I’d be fundamentally OK with. But then again, I’d like to think that I’m probably looking for something a bit more than that. I mean, she didn’t even offer cuddling afterwards. More importantly, when was the last time clicking an anonymous tiny url ever led to anything “great”?
I politely declined, with a “no, thank you,” and went merrily on my way; reassured by the fact that if I can’t find a wife on Tinder, at least anonymous sex robots are looking out for me.
The Book of Ryan 