I didn't mean to upset her; it was only meant to be a bit of fun.
But I looked at A's results; snatched the printout from her hands and ran off with it, yeah schoolground style. Looked and laughed. I suppose it was a breach of trust, more than most women would take on a third date. I mean I felt bad straight away, and gave it back, but the damage was already done.
And for weeks, I thought that must be the reason she dumped me.
Dialling back: about a month ago. Third date; pressure's on. Like you gotta find something new, different, can't just be the usual drinks and a meal. So I double date her to the South Bank near the London Assembly building. That night there was a winter fair on, or should I say fayre, no fuck I hate that spelling.
It was cold, colder than I expected. C and G - the other pair - had gone, back to base, but she's wrapped warmer with folds and layers. We're wandering round the stalls, noodles and she thinks about one of these christmas lanterns and I'm thinking yeah, but I'm the one who's gonna have to carry it but then maybe that's an excuse to get invited home.
Then behind the main area there's this patch of trees. Dark inside a blue tarpaulin with a sign:
Rosalind Elsie: Gene-Teller
Profile your DNA - Know your fortune - Find your perfect partner
while 'U' wait
Well I'm thinking this is pretty... alternative. Palmistry century 21. They take a sample of your DNA and use it to tell you things about yourself. Or personal genomic consultation, as they reckon it. Just the trick to amuse a girl who's still on probation pending a damn shag.
Past the tarpaulin outer, it's like a little mobile lab inside. An older woman greets us. White coat and upbeat, less a mystic old crone, more like some kind of motivational trainer. Makes sense, always reckoned all that management stuff was just high-class horoscopes, Myers-Briggs telling your personality.
"Cross my palm with plastic, my dear."
Cute. In return, she hands us the swabs. Run it across the inside of your cheek, squeaky on the teeth. Over to a white apron.
Of course, they only tell you about the little things, not the big stuff. I mean no-one wants to go out for an evening, find they've got a predisposition. Cancer, Alzheimer's or some creeping, demyelinating horror - something your going to get, or going to pass on. Hardly entertainment that. Strictly between you and your life insurance.
But the smaller stuff, that's just fun. It's also where the real art comes in. I mean a simple wet-test can give you a yes/no flag for cystic fibrosis. But the gene for being good at Hula Hoop? That takes a real eye. Better than any computer, better than the best bioinformatics. That's where the gene-reader comes in. She turns the tarot, reads the runes, stirs the tea leaves, whatever cokes your cola. The subtle patterns in the junk that a computer couldn't tell.
"I've a little Romany in me, on my Grandmother's side"
Um yeah, whatever grandma. I mean joss-sticks, WTF? Meant to be sterile in here.
"And I can prove it - Mitochondrial DNA."
So while 'U' wait I'm admiring the set-up. Wipe clean surfaces, stainless steel, food safety certificate-WAIT FUCK this is a converted burger van! Ah well. Won't mention it to A. Anyway we've paid now.
Sequencer only takes a blink but even that's starting to drag. Reading the menu, 'parrently they also do predictive sex. Match a sample from each of you, show you what your kids would look like. I don't want to suggest it. I mean if I were here with.. I dunno, Neomie Lenoir then maybe I'd think about it. But we're not exactly clicking here, don't want her getting ideas.
...now I'm told - back door - they can even show your children by this or that celebrity. Not strictly legit, I mean just think of the intellectual property issues there, but frankly how would you know? Probably just some shit they keyed in, or borrowed from a former punter who looked a bit like so-and-so. Actual product may vary from that shown...
But we've just gone for the straight 'scope. Two minutes and we each get our personal print-outs. So what does mine say?
Let's see. Cancel the salsa lessons, no aptitude for it. But sushi - preparing sushi - says here I'd be a natural - OK, mental note to give that a go. I lack the gene for stretching bin-liners to fit the top of bins - actually, now I think, yeah, iss true. It says I should avoid jazz, and jazz musicians, fair enough. And good at driving too fast! W00T go me!
Oh and yeah, some stuff I'll skate over, if you don't mind. Remind me, who's blog is it?
***
So that's burnt half an hour, given us a cheap giggle and we're walking back East along the river. Wind's dropped but wishing I'd kept the scarf. She's still looking at her printout and smiling.
And that was when I did it; snatched it and ran. Quick skim... Jackpot! So THAT was what she was good at. Well, I'm not gonna say.
OK I am. The nicest compliment a woman can pay a man. I mean not spoken... exactly... but still involves her mouth, you catch? So maybe I'll give this relationship another weekend. OhComeOn people I was joking! Alright half-joking, it's there you'know, back of your mind least it is if you're me, and I doubt many men are different.
Felt bad straightaway and gave it back. Sheepish but now I'm T playing the-sorry-naughty-puppy and she gets play to forgiving me. Yeah? No. Terse. She walks her printout back to the bin where I threw mine and carefully tears it up. I look away and pretend to look at my watch or some shit. Neither a word. Hometime.
And after that, she just stopped. Stopped phoning, stopped texting. I mean that was cold of her, colder than I expected. No date four, never got to appreciate her... special talent. Not so much as a sniff. Unfair I thought, bit over-sensitive. Only meant to be a bit of fun. OK I mean yeah I shouldn't have looked but I mean you'd think she'd be proud!
But it wasn't till after that that I figured it out. Dialling back: Ditch my printout... She walks over to the same bin... carefully tears hers up... I look away.
THAT wasn't the reason she stopped seeing me. Not because I saw her gene-reading.
But because she... SHE SAW MINE.
One day I'm going to steal your life and trap it in a novel that makes me a fortune.
Posted by: Ben | 29 November 2006 at 10:21
I'm entertaining a possibility that these predictions - any predictions like that are a diversionary tactic. The prediction says A, so you believe it but really everything is B. That way, when things aren't A as expected, you end up that little bit more screwed when they turn out to be B.
Its a great post though. I fully understand not making it to a 4th date.
Posted by: Beth | 29 November 2006 at 10:44
Fantastic post, thank you very much.
On a side note: I have yet to meet a woman who fails to claim oral sex "expertise". That would be understandable, if we were making woo, and I directly asked; they'd hardly announce that they gave crap head.
But I don't ask. I just get told, whether we are dating or not. None of this would be a problem if it was always true, which it sadly isn't.
So, do not rue too hard.
Posted by: PB Curtis | 29 November 2006 at 11:21
I want to know yours.
Surely it wasn't so bad.
Posted by: isabelle | 29 November 2006 at 16:00
Did her profile say anything about her being a sneaky bitch?
Posted by: clarissa | 29 November 2006 at 18:37
I think, Isabelle, that if this girl ran off never to be seen again it ay have been quite bad.
Was it bad?
Posted by: Timbo | 29 November 2006 at 19:28
It's left for the reader to work out.
Ask yourself, would you want the narrator of this story to be your boyfriend, given what you know about the way he thinks?
OE
Posted by: oe | 30 November 2006 at 00:04
PB: Think about it. Would any sane man really REALLY tell a woman she gave crap head? I mean, she can always improve, right?
Posted by: Sarsparilla | 30 November 2006 at 00:32
Ooh, naggingly intriguing, as ever.
... Has the writer worked it out?
Posted by: Aidan | 30 November 2006 at 03:01
PS (or indeed, PB) - What is this "crap head" people are talking about?
Posted by: Aidan | 30 November 2006 at 03:03
Hmmm. Sneaky indeed. If it said you have psychopathic tendencies then perhaps I'd run away as well. But otherwise... no problem. It's all a load of piffle anyway :)
Posted by: Bluesoup | 30 November 2006 at 10:18
Yes, I was backtracking, thinking I must have missed a bit here, but no, it's all left dangling. As was our OE, by the sounds of it.
Posted by: looby | 30 November 2006 at 11:34
sometimes its better to keep the neanderthal hidden...."he" has his time and place ......
Posted by: pocketpunk | 30 November 2006 at 12:10
Hmm, bad can be good sometimes plus I like a man who's honest, if not out loud, at least in his head.
So yes, I might.
Posted by: | 30 November 2006 at 19:40
I'd want to know, definitely. Its a nightmare trying to figure it out so any insight is welcome.
Same with the crap head thing, incidentally. I'd rather know I was doing something wrong so I could try and fix it. If the tables were turned and he was doing something wrong I'd tell him. Gently of course.
Posted by: Beth | 30 November 2006 at 21:34
I never intended a specific answer.
My definition of science-fiction is "what if" meets "so what". The core of this story is "what if" we could easily find out such detailed, accurate information about each other and "so what" might it mean for human relationships.
The (selfish) male narrator see something he likes in the female character's DNA profile, but it doesn't occur to him that she might not like what she sees in his.
I deliberately didn't say what it was she didn't like - it could be one of the things we already know about (maybe she was a Salsa fanatic, or played Jazz?) or it could be something else. I suppose I was thinking the printout might say something like "He's only interested in you for the sex" but you can make up your own answer, it will still work.
The point of the story is that we all lie to each other and pretend we're things we're not, especially in the early days of relationships - do you REALLY want to know the whole truth?
...and I thought the "clever bit" in this post was the mobile lab being a converted burger van!
If you liked this, a post from August uses very similar themes:
http://overnighteditor.typepad.com/theovernighteditor/2006/08/simulation.html
Posted by: overnighteditor | 01 December 2006 at 00:47
Point taken but I still want to know the whole truth.
Posted by: Boudica | 05 December 2006 at 23:45
Apparently there is no such thing as 'Crap Head'. Even if it's bad, it's good, or so I've been told, by someone trying to get me to give them it.
Personally, not being a fan of giving head, I think I'm bad. Don't need anyone to tell me that, and don't particularly want any practice to get better, thanks.
Like the post though OE, found you through the insignificant awards and think I'll be stopping by again.
Posted by: little Bird | 11 December 2006 at 23:01