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The Love Song of J. Howard Parkrock (1)
This is the story of a regular guy and his quest to find the girl of his dreams. The story begins in--no, that would take too long. Let's skip ahead to the roadkill:
J.'s love life had become roadkill. You know, the kind that's been run over a couple dozen times, so that it's sort of fused into the road and no one would even think to try and remove it because it's only a slight bump and anyway there's no way to tell where the road ends and the kill begins. J. had been chugging along with this real strong feeling, which he assumed was love, and then--splat!--a brown furry stain. After a while, he stopped thinking about it as something that used to be alive and just drove right over it without worrying about how his tires were going to smell. People get used to anything sooner or later.
So J. got used to being alone. But the great thing is, roadkill eventually becomes road again. Seven years went by and J. forgot where that stain came from. His quest to find the girl of his dreams was back on. There were problems, though. J. had been out of the game so long, he couldn't even remember the rules any more. Plus he was in a different city now and none of his old tactics seemed to work. The one ray of hope that he saw shining down on him was the Internet.
When J. decided to try Internet dating, he had the same apprehensions as anyone else. "What kind of people would use the Internet to get dates (other than people like me of course)? Is it really possible to connect with the girl of my dreams through a computer? Could this whole thing be some kind of scam?" But J. figured he had nothing to lose, so he pointed his browser down the slightly bumpy road and hit the gas.
The first thing J. noticed about Internet dating was how transparent it was. He had been imagining the virtual equivalent of a seedy storefront with no sign, a greasy-looking clerk behind bulletproof glass, and a mysterious velveteen curtain, where you pay up front and take your chances. It wasn't like that at all. You could see the whole site and everyone on it for free. You could post your own profile, describe the girl of your dreams, and even write odes on your faithfulness if you wanted. Money didn't come into it until you actually decided to make contact.
J. spent several days browsing through other people's profiles and thinking about what he might write in his own. But the more he browsed and thought, the more uneasy he became. He began to realize that he could "stretch the truth" about himself; he could leave out certain inconvenient facts, and so could everyone else. And even if everyone told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, J. wasn't at all sure that the girl of his dreams could be identified like a car, by a list of features, no matter how true they were. There had to be a better way, one based on research and accumulated wisdom, like the yentas of old.
Fortunately, J. soon found another site that claimed to be just that. It had doctors, and psychologists, and credentials of all kinds backing it up. And it didn't leave you on your own to make the same mistakes you've always made. Instead, it would figure out your deepest needs and capacities by asking you a whole battery of diagnostic questions, and then, using a complex and highly secret algorithm, recommend people with compatible needs and capacities. At last, thought J., the power of technology would be brought to bear on one of the oldest human problems!
He quickly got to work answering the hundreds of questions upon which the cyber-yenta's assessment would be made. As a psychology major, J. understood that the many redundant questions were necessary to insure the accuracy of the assessment. He worked diligently to answer them all as honestly as possible. After many hours, the questionnaire was finished. J.'s hand was trembling as he clicked the "send" button. An e-mail response would arrive within hours.
The response arrived sooner than J. had expected. It began by thanking him for using their service and boasting of their high success rate. "Unfortunately," it continued, "there is a small percentage of applicants who, based on our research, are not compatible with anyone. This is not meant to discourage you from seeking a relationship through other channels. Good luck in your efforts!" That's when J. heard a rather disconcerting kabump-kabump! and noticed a strangely familiar smell coming from under his car. Roadkilled again.
(To be continued)
