Down the Rabbit Hole

“Yeah, well, online banking. They’re still paying me, so I’m still working.”


“This is crazy,” Jeremy muttered, dropping his elbow on the desk and putting his head in his hand. How would he even find Macy? Nobody used their real name on here, just those cutesy “handles.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not the only ones. People who get into trouble gambling, or in the stock market, or watching too much porn, or whatever, on their phones are sent to places like this too. Same kinda rules.”

“And how do you know that?” Jeremy sat up straight.

“Queenie Hartz told me. She thought I didn’t get it. But, see, I did get it, I just didn’t want to go out on any dates. Not that that’s been a problem, not with what they wrote about me.”

“What do you mean, ‘they’?”

“Look, you got mail.” Kyle reached over and took the mouse, dragging it swiftly across the page to Jeremy’s mailbox. It contained one note from someone named SeriousFun844.

Dear GnatMan: Are you kidding with this profile? Do you actually think someone’s going to think it’s cute? Why don’t you write something serious? Share something of yourself. We don’t bite, you know. You’re a good-looking guy, if that’s really your picture. But if you’re actually the jerk portrayed in the essay, forget it. Telling people you’re an asshole up front still doesn’t make it okay to be an asshole.

Let me know. I’m serious.

And I’m fun. :-) Gina

Jeremy stared at the words. “I’m portrayed as an asshole?”

“Probably.” Kyle moved the mouse over to the profile and clicked. “That’s what they do, list all your worst qualities. And don’t even think about changing it, it doesn’t work. It just adds more bad stuff.”

The first problem was the picture. It was him, all right, and not a bad shot, but it had been a photo of him and Macy at a restaurant last summer, out of which she had been rather obviously and ungracefully cropped.

Then, to cap it off were the words:

I’m fresh out of a relationship and in desperate need of a new one. I always have to be with someone—even if it’s just for arm candy. Though I would love to fall head over heels for someone, for most of my life I believed love was impossible, if not simply a delusional dream of the desperate. Well, count me in now!

I’m self-centered and self-gratifying. I pay minimal attention to my dates unless they’re wearing something hot and we’re about to have sex. Sometimes superficial and regularly overconfident, I can be an insensitive bastard to those who can do nothing for me.

The thing went on in the same vein, ringing just enough bells of veracity to sink Jeremy’s spirits. Was that really who he was? He certainly recognized some of the base impulses, but he hadn’t acted on them, had he? He tried his best to be a decent guy. No, he was a decent guy.

Wasn’t he?

Jesus, if Macy saw that . . . how could he write to her now? Even if he could find her?

“So if everybody on here has a crappy profile, why would anyone not in this crazy place use the app?” Jeremy asked, scrolling through the litany of horrors that was his dating profile. “Who wants to pick out a jerk to date?”

“Oh the site’s open to everybody. We’re a really small percentage overall. You can look around and see. Most people are normal.”

Which would make it even harder to attract someone—and even easier for Macy to find someone better than him. Losing hope rapidly, he looked up at his own handle.

“Why am I called ‘GnatMan’?” he asked, hoping it showed a kind of appealing self-deprecation, some awareness of his place in the universe, or maybe some clue that the profile was a big joke.

But, like the grim reaper, Kyle reached out one long finger and pointed at a line in the essay: I have the attention span of a gnat.