The modern way of stalking

If it wasn’t texting, it was Facebook.
If it wasn’t Facebook, it was Twitter.
Eventually, it was the inevitable Snapchat selfie with some meaningless caption. Not to say anything, but to see if the other person was watching. Or more importantly, to see when they watched.

At the time, this felt normal. Looking back, it was the modern way of stalking.

There was no need to leave the house, no need to “accidentally” run into anyone or be casually passing through their area. You just sent messages across every available platform and waited for validation to land back in your lap. It wasn’t recommended, and it certainly didn’t do Jason* any favours, but at the time, I couldn’t even blame him. This was just how things worked.

From a smile to a number

It started with a smile while he was serving me. That turned into conversation, and eventually into me handing my number to the younger, yet seemingly mature, (seeming being the key word here) bartender.

He said he’d text me the next day. And, to be fair to him, he did.

After a few messages back and forth, we met for dinner a couple of nights later. He seemed fine. He had a slightly odd obsession with Lego, but let’s face it – slim pickings. Everyone’s allowed a quirk.
Famous last words.

The second date I didn’t want

After an awkward goodbye, I knew I wasn’t going to see him again. But following careful analysis with the girls at work, I decided one more night wouldn’t kill me. Just to be sure I wasn’t interested (or being too fussy).

We agreed to see each other the following Thursday. I had seven days to decide how I felt.

In reality, I only needed one.

When “keen” becomes too much

I’d met him in person twice, yet my phone suggested we’d been friends for years and separated by continents. Every time I looked at my phone, which, as a serial social media user, was often, there was a message.

Even if I hadn’t replied to the last one, there was another. And another.

Eventually, after a couple of hours, I stopped replying altogether. Two days passed. He continued with his one-sided conversation. Many of the messages were “accidental”, apparently meant for someone else. Others were Snapchat selfies: puppy-dog eyes, captions about not wanting to be at work, or watching a film.

Quality conversation, obviously.

Calling it quits

Two days before the next date, I called it quits. He seemed understanding at the time. Very reasonable. Very calm. When Ross broke up with Elizabeth in Friends for being too young, she took it so maturely (or so it seemed) that he actually started to question whether his decision was the right one. I did too. Until Elizabeth threw water balloons at him. Jason did a version of that (without the water balloons).

That was seven days ago.

Since then, I’d received eight messages. Three were “accidental”. There were also multiple Snapchats, eyes cropped just right, and the occasional update about how boring his job was.

The final straw was a topless picture that was, naturally, “accidental”, followed by a middle-of-the-night message strategically addressed to a male friend whose name started with the same letter as mine. Because, yanno, “accidental” has to be believable.

The lesson I actually learnt

Looking back now, this wasn’t interest. It was noise. And at the time, I didn’t know the difference.

I remember thinking I’d learnt my lesson. That I’d be more reluctant about handing my number out so easily.

In reality, what I learnt was this:
If someone makes you feel overwhelmed before you’ve even decided if you like them, it’s not romantic. It’s a warning.

And yes, in my experience at least, if they’re single, good-looking, and coming on that strong, there’s usually a reason.