thrill of the chase

There is something very familiar about internet dating. I haven't had much experience with it. (Apart from the time I tried it out of panic at turning 26. And the time it matched me with a bona fide Trekkie.) But it is surprisingly similar to another activity in which I'm quite experienced; to wit, job hunting.

It all starts with a posting that strikes the fancy at first sight. I read it once. I return to it again and again in the ensuing hours, scouring for new details. Because so little is known, the possibilities are endless. This could be "the one" - the job that I'd happily work forever, or for a very long time (say, five years). This is where my interests and passions and ambitions converge. Could it be? No. But what if...

I reach out. What to include in the cover letter, this introduction laden with the weight of first impression? Then there's the resume, a chronicle of predecessors that didn't last. Spin. Weave an upbeat rendering, the occupational equivalent of "It was mutual. It was for the best. We're still friends."

Then I wait. For the call. For the interview. For the face-to-face encounter where we each get to meet or fail expectations. Firm handshake; check. Eye contact; check. Clean hair and suit; check. Feigned interest and laughter; check, check. But the kicker - and this doesn't always happen - is when the interest and laughter are sincere. He's a riot! She's brilliant! What a fun bunch; I would love to work with them. Gulp. Do they like me the way I like them? Maybe I shouldn't have told that story about that time with those other people. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten everything on my plate. Maybe I shouldn't have been so obviously interested, so... eager.

More waiting. Days feel like weeks feel like eternity. Timing is everything now. Quick reciprocation capitalizes on the euphoria of a good meeting. Seal the deal and doubts and second-thoughts never enter the picture. Keep me waiting and the perfect match turns into unrequited love, then sours into rejection. Pride takes the mic. Not calling, eh? Well, I wasn't too impressed either. Let's see, what else is out there? The search begins for another, one more interesting, more challenging, with a bigger and better package.

By the time the belated call comes, the offer has lost its luster; it might as well be for a janitorial position. And it'll be nothing compared to the new contender. Because it's true what they say: there's always more fish in the sea.