After my longest and most recent relationship ended, Trey was my first date.
His Tinder photos intrigued me. Four of them were of him sailing his boat, taken by drone. The last depicted a group of seven people, with the man in the center holding a trophy, presumably having won a race.
In his bio, Trey described his career (“splitter, nuclear nonproliferation day laborer”), his background (“ex-expat, coffee, pastry, and pizza snob”), his hobbies (“sailboat racer, superior to cruisers, motorboaters, and landlubbers”), and his education (“doctor, but not the helpful, cure your rash kind; masters in policy wonkery”).
We matched, exchanged messages, and planned to meet the following week.
As the date approached, I did some stealthy sleuthing online, as any modern dater might. I typed his place of work and his first name in Google and found a “Trey Parker” whose images vaguely resembled the man in the center of that profile picture.
I learned a lot about Trey Parker, a postdoctoral researcher at UC Berkeley.
He was an astrophysicist and engineer who received a BS in physics from UCSD and a PhD in applied physics from UCLA. Trey was currently working on the “proper coding and physics configuration” to “enable successful mission software.” I perused research articles he had authored, such as Space-based Telescopes for Actionable Refinement of Ephemeris pathfinder mission. In a brief personal statement, I found that he loved teaching astronomy and inspiring students to explore the field’s uncharted territories. His students on Rate My Professor had kind things to say.
To be completely honest, I didn’t know what the hell most of the stuff I found meant, but I knew it impressed me.
And I was incredibly prepared.
We had decided to meet at Saap Avenue, a trendy restaurant known for unique cocktails, on a Tuesday evening. I was consulting a friend about her own date via phone as I walked from my car to the restaurant. I took a deep breath, put away my cell, and entered the building.
As the door closed behind me, I searched vigilantly for Trey Parker. The man standing at the hostess’ table did not match the profile, but then neither did the man who quickly approached me.
I was ready to smile politely, shake my head, and say “Sorry; you’ve got the wrong girl!” But the man extended his hand, said, “You must be Allie,” and introduced himself as Trey Lawton.
I choked on my next words, but managed to confirm that I was, indeed, Allie. I quickly assessed for signs of danger—I had heard sketchy stories about impersonations in online dating—but found none.
As I returned to equilibrium, we grabbed a table, ordered drinks, and began an awkward dance around first-date questions.
It suddenly occurred to me that, not only did I imagine an inaccurate physical version of Trey, all of the information I had scoped on him was not…his. Trey Lawton did not study at UCSD and UCLA; he had been an east coaster until recently. He was not an astrophysicist and an engineer, but a data analyst in nuclear energy.
I gathered all the new information while simultaneously wondering how this could have happened and attempting to recall his Tinder profile. Who puts others’ pictures on Tinder?
When Trey left our table, saying he needed to use the “facilities,” I pulled out my phone and texted Emily.
Me:
I’m ready for Buenos Aires
Emily:
Hahahahah
How was it?!?!?!?!
Me:
He’s peeing
Not the guy in the photos
Lol
Emily:
LOL OMG WHAT????????
Me:
It’s confusing
I’ll explain later
Emily:
Hahahahaha
I’m dying
I’m laughing to myself
Are u getting catfished?
When Trey returned, we wrapped up our date and hugged goodbye.
And then I rushed home to reinvestigate the Tinder profile.
I had not realized that you couldn’t quite see the man in the sailboat pictures taken by drone. And I realized I had made the assumption that the man in the middle of the final photo was the one swiping, matching, and messaging me on Tinder. But, sure enough, Trey Lawton was there, in the corner, barely visible, standing behind two other men, and looking away from the camera.
It made me wonder.
Did he feel he had something to hide?
