Missed Connection: We work in the same building and I think you're on the first floor. I was walking my bike through the lobby this afternoon and I saw you sitting in an armchair near the elevator. I noticed from across the room that your eyes were red and your forehead was sweaty. You looked like you'd been crying. Or possibly between cries. You were sitting perfectly upright like a fence post, but you were staring down at your shoes. During the workday, you are the closest person to me on Grindr, but for some reason, we never talk. I thought about resting my bike against the wall and walking over to you. I wondered what it would be like to put my hand on your shoulder and ask if you were alright. I wanted to be someone you could trust. I really wanted to. But instead, I kept moving towards the door — adverting my eyes when you looked up. I've thought about you for the past few hours and even though I wasn't there, I want you know that I think you're a huge pussy for crying in public.
Missed Connection: Listen, guy. Just because we hooked up once doesn't mean you have to sneak out the gym when I walk in. We're both adult men and I'm not going to make it weird for you. And if I ran out the room every time I encountered someone I hooked up with, I wouldn't be able to leave the house. So relax. Finish your workout on the stairclimber machine like a woman and let's get through this.
Missed Connection: You are the deaf busboy at Rum House. I left my number on a coaster and you never texted me. Now I have to spend the rest of my life wondering if you weren't interested in me or if you never saw the coaster because you're deaf.
Missed Connection: You kissed me in your F-150 and then looked away and said, "This was a mistake." Then, without saying another word, you dropped me off around the corner; in front of the bar where we'd just met. I stood on the curb until you drove away, and then I walked two miles home alone in the January deep freeze. I forgive you, but I hope something exotic and angry swims up your urethra. Oh, and you're real name is Logan Broussard because fuck you.
Missed Connection: You're the drive-thru boy at the McDonald's on Carrollton. I think you heard me fart. You made me a Sausage McMuffin and I involuntarily made a toot cloud for two.
Missed Connection: You're the cashier at the H&M five minutes from my apartment. You're also my Facebook friend and you follow me on Instagram, although we've never met in person. I was standing in line for 10 minutes before I realized you were behind the checkout counter. From that moment on, I stared at the other cashier – mentally begging her to go faster so that I didn't have to come face-to-face with you and drudge through an awkward, sweaty conversation. And before the obese woman with two babies could reach out and take her receipt, I forced myself onto the other cashier, throwing my belt, shirt, and debit card in her face. Then I "nonchalantly" leaned against the counter and hummed the Lianne La Havas song that played overhead. Once I had my bag, I practically sprinted out the door and turned the corner so you wouldn't see the back of my T-shirt: "Britney Spears Circus Tour 2009." The worst of all Britney tours.
Missed Connection: You were my summer camp counselor when I was 10 or 11. You were probably only a couple years older than me at the time, but you seemed at least Erik von Detten's age. One time, you sat on top the monkey bars with one leg extended out. Your entire dick and balls flopped out of your gym shorts. I've been looking for you ever since.
Missed Connection: We met on Bourbon Street. I think your name was either Matt or David. Pretty sure you're a ginger. We fucked, I passed out, and in the morning, you were gone. Now, I've spent the entire morning combing through all of my slutty gay male Facebook friends to see if we have you in common. No luck so far. Will try again at first light.
Missed Connection: In Palermo, you were crossing at an inner section in the rain. I looked up from under my umbrella and saw you gripping a messenger bag over your head like a visor. In Paris, I saw you on the street below our apartment. You were with friends and you waved back at me. It was New Year's Day and we all had to be going somewhere. In Kilrush, we passed each other on a muddy trail. An icy breeze lifted off the sea and you packed up your shoulders and shivered. I smiled at you and said, "I know. It's unbearable." From behind me, my boyfriend asked, "What's unbearable?" And I wanted to say, "All of this," but I just reached back for his hand instead.
