I Thought It Was a Date. I Was Wrong.

In my early 20s, I matched with a girl on a dating app. Let’s call her Sarah. She was cute, funny, and seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me. We texted for a week straight, and the chemistry was undeniable. Finally, she suggested we meet up for dinner. I was pumped.

We met at a cozy little Italian place downtown. She looked even better in person, and the conversation flowed just as easily as it had over text. We laughed, shared stories, and even split a tiramisu for dessert. I was already imagining our second date.

After dinner, she suggested we take a walk. “There’s a park nearby with this amazing view of the city,” she said. I thought, Perfect. Romantic. This is going great.

We strolled through the park, and sure enough, the view was stunning. The city lights sparkled in the distance, and the air was crisp. She stopped at a bench and sat down, patting the spot next to her. I sat down, thinking, Okay, here we go. This is the moment.

But then she reached into her bag and pulled out... a notebook.

“So,” she said, flipping it open, “I’ve been working on this screenplay, and I really need some feedback. You seem like a creative guy. Mind if I read you a few scenes?”

I blinked. “Uh... sure?”

For the next hour, she read me her screenplay. It was... something. A dystopian thriller about sentient toasters taking over the world. I nodded along, trying to look interested, but inside I was screaming.

When she finally finished, she looked at me expectantly. “So? What do you think?”

I stammered out some generic praise, like, “Wow, really unique concept!” and “You’ve got a great imagination!” She beamed and said, “I knew you’d get it! Let’s meet up again soon so I can read you the next act.”

I mumbled something noncommittal and made my escape as soon as I could. Needless to say, I didn’t text her back. Turns out, she wasn’t looking for a date—she was looking for a focus group.