SFU shares their love stories and Tinder nightmares

Students lament their dating nightmares and cheer their success stories

Image courtesy of RTÉ.ie

By: Juztin Bello, Marco Ovies, Paige Riding, Naomi Torres

Alright, I’m not proud of this. One of the first times I met a Tinder guy in person was when I was partying at a frat house at UBC. Gross, I know. This guy and I had been talking for maybe less than a week; definitely not in the realm of something serious, but this was someone who I had at least more than one conversation with. While I was at this frat, he asked me to come over. He messaged me his phone number so that I could call him if I got lost on my walk over to his.

I should also mention it was Halloween and that I was dressed as a Harlem Globetrotter. I don’t know why that’s important, but it just is. Because it was Halloween and because I’m (sometimes) a mess I was, for lack of a better word, pretty blackout.  

Look, I’ve heard about “stranger danger” before — I’ve seen more than enough PSAs in my time. But when I tell you I disobeyed every possible stranger danger-rule in this exact moment, you’ll be shocked. Not only was I meeting up with a stranger on the internet (strike one), I was intoxicated (strike two), and literally texted him “I’m so drunk and stupid right now haha” (STRIKE THREE).

 Eventually, I got to his place (after he found me wandering the street) and we “got to know each other better” — If you catch my drift. Now, this is back in first year when I had barely any experience with men, as I had only come out a few months prior. To say I was unprepared and super awkward is an understatement.

 After maybe an hour, I realized my phone was going off since I apparently failed to tell any of my friends that I was leaving. That’s strike four. Trust me, I’m disappointed in baby-gay me too. On my way out he gave me a carton of coconut water. Why? I don’t know. 

 Flash forward to the next morning and this guy texts me “good morning beautiful :).” And what did I proceed to do? I blocked his number. The worst part? He was literally telling me when we were together how he hates people who just use Tinder for hooking up.

 Plot twist: I was the Tinder nightmare.  — JB 

I was pretty new to the whole dating scene when I eventually joined Tinder, so I was definitely nervous when I had not only started talking to this girl, but agreed to meet with her in person. We agreed to meet before her shift at work for a quick brunch, and she had recommended a place to eat (which was fine by me, I did not need that added pressure of choosing a location). The day finally came and we met up at the SkyTrain station. 

On the way to the restaurant, we started with some small talk, y’know, nothing super groundbreaking. She told me she was taking a minor in film so naturally the conversation turned to some of the latest movies. Now this was around the time that Dunkirk had just come out and I had asked her if she had seen it. 

“No, I haven’t,” she said. “What is it about?”

“It’s about . . . the Battle of Dunkirk?” I answered.

“Okay, and what’s the Battle of Dunkirk?”

For the rest of the date, my stupid brain decided to make fun of her for not knowing what the Battle of Dunkirk was. For whatever reason I thought 1. this was common knowledge and 2. that it was a good idea to make fun of this insanely pretty girl that I definitely wanted to see again. 

Why she decided to stay after that was beyond me, but eventually, we got close to the restaurant. Well, that is what she said, of course, but all I saw were the two sex shops right between it. 

I could feel the perspiration starting to form in my pits. I knew Tinder was meant to be a hookup app, but this was very forward. How could she be taking me to a sex shop on our first date? I probably made fun of her some more about Dunkirk from how nervous I was, because why wouldn’t I? 

Eventually, we did make it inside, and honestly, the breakfast was pretty meh. The conversation, however, was pretty great, and I ended up having a really good time. Once I had calmed down and gotten some toast in my stomach, I felt way more comfortable. It was one of those instances where you feel like you have known the person for a long time and the time flew by. 

We left the restaurant and I decided to walk her to work since I am such a gentleman. But now the pressure was on: what did I do when we said bye? It was only the first date so should I kiss her? No, that’s too forward, should I go for the handshake? No that’s way too formal, maybe a fist bump? 

Right around the time I had decided that the high-five-turned-into-the-turkey thing was the best to say bye, she hugged me and started to walk into her work. I waved goodbye and this goof ran back and high fived me because she thought I was asking for one. I stood kind of confused because I definitely did not ask for a high five as she walked into the doors of work. 

I texted her asking when we could hang out again almost five minutes we had said goodbye. Over two years later and we are still together. Not sure how I pulled that one off, but I’m not going to jinx it. — MO

I met a guy at the start of this school year on Tinder. After a few weeks of meme exchanges and backhand flirting influenced heavily by internet references, we agreed to meet in person for sushi.

The beginning of the relationship was genuinely enjoyable. We explored Stanley Park together, we talked and walked around downtown for hours, and the first kiss was like a spinoff of The Great Gatsby — we went to a Halloween party in a high-end downtown apartment and as we were walking through the crowd, a spotlight formed from the party lights and we took advantage of it. Swoon.

Then the red flags started popping up.

I shouldn’t hold this against him, but it was really hard to look past. He was poor. And by poor, I mean he was thousands of dollars in debt from film school student loans. Now, before you denounce me as a superficial asshole, let me preface that this wasn’t the problem for me. What pissed me off was his lack of effort to change his situation. Through working a minimum wage job, having extremely restricted hours for availability, and no drive to consider another place of work, he seemed overly complacent in what was causing him distress.

While he was behind me at the cashier, holding my waist in the “thanks for getting this, babe” way — which happened at least 33 times — I was getting a bit resentful. What’s even worse than financial unavailability is emotional unavailability. And that’s just what he had.

If he was having a bad day, we would have a bad day. I’m talking about him cooping himself in his bed, not responding to any messages the whole day, not eating, nothing. Without communication, a relationship has nothing. I think a simple “I’m not having a good day” or something could stop me from wondering if he was alive while I’m stuck up on this mountain for school. Also it would help me to help him. But that didn’t happen.

So, I broke it off. Well, I tried to. Boy did not take a hint. You would think that grabbing all my belongings from his home (except that necklace I forgot . . . I still don’t have that back) and telling him I did not want to talk to him would be enough. Nah. It was multiple manipulative “hey, I know you don’t walk to talk to me, BUT . . . ” texts and messages a day. When I need space, I need space. He did not acknowledge or accept this.

I conclude my tale with some of the oh-so-cringy passive aggressive attempts this boy made to get me back. Almost right after I ended it, I went out with my friends to a really cool club night playing emo music. Despite my vocalizing that I wanted nothing to do with him that night, he sends the message:

“Hey, my friend invited me to this event, would you mind if I came?” Bruh. What can I say to that?

Needless to say, if I lost a centimetre of height for each passive-aggressive tweet that proceeded in the fallout of this, I finally wouldn’t be taller than him. Did I mention this only occurred over two months? —  PR

Fresh out of a long-term relationship, I knew I had to do something to fill this empty void. After a long period of sadness, loneliness, and a lot of work devoted to improving myself, I was ready to get back in the dating game. 

And personally, I really only date for marriage. But I said, “fuck it. Let’s just try and expand my taste and find out what I like in men and what I don’t.” 

My thumb swiped left on guys flexed in a dirty gym mirror, had a girl on their profile, or someone who just wanted a rave or drinking buddy. 

I was picky. 

A couple of hours went by and the classic Tinder match chime went off, with ‘Tom.’ 

“Tbh I’m just looking for something casual. Got out of something serious recently so I wanna chill for a bit, hbu?” 

To me, this sounded like a perfect match since I, too, just got something out of serious. 

He soon asked, “Hold up. Are we talking about my place or yours?” 

After a series of panic and confused text messages to my best friends, they explained to me what Tom meant when he said casual — meaning “sex.” 

I was shook. I was in no way ready to lose my virginity with a guy I met on Tinder. 

A failed match only brings another. The Tinder algorithm combined with luck worked its magic and off went another chime. 

‘Leon,’ was the next dating candidate, emerging during my 30-minute lunch break. He blabbered the entire time, ranting away about his failed Tinder experiences with girls who blocked him online. Rather than being attracted to this guy, I just had pity over him. 

Red flag after red flag . . . this was the saddest, shortest, and most unsuccessful date ever. 

Before clocking back in, my thumb hovered over the app, held down on it, and tapped the “x” on the top right corner. 

My Tinder experience was tragically over. 

I still have some hope in me that I can find someone on this campus naturally and have a meet-cute story. Crossed-fingers, knock-on-wood, and wish me luck. — NT