I went to a comedy night a while back, and one of the comedians had a set that was about her terrible experiences on dating apps. One of the main stories was about how she went on a date with some guy, and when they decided to get ice cream afterwards he pulled up a spreadsheet with rankings of ice cream shops and flavours he’d tried in order to assist in the decision making process. The crowd laughed uproarously at the idea of this pathetically pernickety man with boring hobbies.
But I wasn’t laughing. I love a good spreadsheet as much as the next autistic person. I’ve watched Matt Parker deliver comedy specials entirely revolving around spreadsheets. The spreadsheet is a sacred tool that does not deserve this disrespect.
But more importantly, the guy in her story had my deadname. I was thinking, “shit, is she talking about me? that does seem like something I would do.” and the way that the set felt targeted made the meanspiritedness of it come through even clearer. Fortunately I was able to assure myself that it wasn’t me by reminding myself of one simple fact:
I never get any matches on dating apps in the first place.
Pic related, it’s my ice cream (& gelato) spreadsheet.