Cyber Law

'At the moment things are custard and later they will probably turn
into christmas pudding but maybe if you're around at 2 we can
talk.'

Taking up his metaphor she writes: 'My days are more like
liquid.'

She asks if he wants to meet.
'U cld be a physcho' he messages. She isn't sure if it's a typo or he
can't spell.

Donovan, the green-eyed IT man from downstairs, a ring on his left hand
twinkling evilly at her, asks if he can show her something on her
computer. Something drops inside her stomach. He starts clicking and a
screen pops up asking if she'd like to talk to Nirvanarashid. He
disregards and continues. She looks at him. There is nothing on his
face but concentration. Luckily the new programme he wants to show her
isn't working and he goes to another computer on the other side of the
room. Quickly her hands shaking she tells charlesjudd she has to go and
closes all the 'personal' windows.

Opening up the chat window again, charlesjudd writes about the woman he
wants. 'She's got to be confident and independent - not clingy!'
Then he writes she must like 'a but of "dinner satisfaction"'
What is he referring to here?
She replies:
'Abitofdinnersatisfactionorabutofdinnersatisfaction?'
Her space bar won't work. He tells her to get a knife and lever it
up.
'No need it's working now'
The space bar keeps going on and off like a dripping tap.

'Do you smoke?' he asks.
To be cool she writes 'Tobacco - no'
'So are you a weekend toastie? I'm an evening puffer and a weekend
toastie' She wonders if he is purposefully trying to confuse her or
whether he actually talks like this. She asks what he means but there
is no reply.

She logs in every 2 hours and starts logging in at home in the
evenings. charlesjudd disappears for a few days. She looks for others
to chat to at work but no one interesting answers her questions. Faces
begin to look the same. She looks through several pages and stops when
she is on page 21. She has looked at 210 men.

By the afternoon she feels oppressed. Opening the windows doesn't help
nor does the fact that the others feel it too. Some of them have been
working there for years. One of the guys is leaving soon - migrating to
New Zealand with his kiwi wife. She feels a peeved jealousy seep into
her mind every time she thinks of it.

charlesjudd is back. He gives her his mobile number and tells her to
text him sometime. She doesn't think she will but thinks of things she
could say.
'hey charles are u as crazy as I think u r?'
'hey charles what ya doin?'
Of course she has to drop full words. Writing them whole would make her
seem serious. Less flippant - like she wants him.

He is just a picture. Even with the emails and 'chats' he is not real.
She would have to meet him for him to become alive.

The next day charlesjudd isn't there. She sees other guys with nice
pictures. Beginning to feel impatient she emails five of them. One
replies. He thinks he might be too tame and boring for her. He's
training to be a barrister. She thinks he might be right.

Someone emails her - his name is 'James or Jamie - see how easygoing I
am?' the conversation goes something like this:

'what would you wear on a date with me'

'jeans, boots, a vest top'

'what would you wear underneath?'

'underwear'

'r u a thong or knickers girl?'

She doesn't answer.

*

Easygoing, down to earth, decent, confident, sexy, good looking, sporty
- these are the catchwords of this cyber-dating world. She doesn't want
to have to say she is any of these things. At first, she had drawn a
blank when trying to come up with a description of herself. But you
couldn't be on the site without it so she had said she liked the
cinema, caf?s, drinking, talking till 2am, having a laff. All the
things that had been said countless times. She was relying on her photo
to do some of the talking for her.

Couples surround her on the tube. One person gets up; two people sit
down - inevitably touching each other.

She gives charlesjudd her number halfway through a chat the next day at
work. Minutes later her phone rings. It's him. Such a strong accent -
he asks her if he can call her when he gets home. She feels the whole
room listening. Wonders if they can hear him talking as well as her
because he is so loud on the other end.

There is a buzzing in her mind when she gets off the phone. Finds it
hard to remember what she was doing.

He doesn't call in the evening. She had carried her mobile around the
house with her. Laid it down, went into another room, came back, picked
it up. The same screen stared back at her.

He texts her the next day saying he got home late. Replying to her
reply he texts, 'Can't help thinking your a "nice" girl who wants 2
reach out and b touched. I think your charming and would love to meet
u.'
She texts him back: 'How bout meeting nxt Wednesday?'

There is another guy who starts chatting to her. Calls himself
timbucki. His name is Sam he tells her. He wants to meet but his
profile is hidden. He wants to keep his details secret. She asks if he
has a photo.
The photo is black and white. He's wearing a suit and tie, a wedding
picture.
Not his - he says 'he he'.
'so when we gonna have our date?'
She is shocked at the pressure he is putting on already. But he doesn't
look too bad. She says she is busy this week. They make a day next
week. She gives him her number.

Friday evening. Oxford Street. Black streets. Red, yellow, green bleery
lights. Her phone vibrates and rings. A private number makes her heart
lurch.
'Hello, this is Sam.'
'Oh hi'
'Let me do an intelligence test on you.'
She fears what's coming.
'What colour is snow?'
'Is this a joke or something?'
'No'
'Ok it's white'
'What colour are the clouds?'
'White'
'What do cows drink?'
'Milk???No that's not right. We drink their milk but they don't drink
milk.'
'That was a bit slow but you got it right.'

Throughout this conversation her battery is beeping at her. Suddenly it
gives two beeps and dies. She looks at it and feels a sense of being
let off a very large hook.

Saturday afternoon. The absence of work calms her. She is watching a
night late movie she recorded. The house is empty except for her and
the tv.

Her mobile starts to ring. She has saved charlesjudd's number so she
knows it's him. She looks at the phone for a few rings, cannot decide
whether to pick it up. But it seems stupid not to.
'Hello'
'O hey this is charles'
'O hello.' The hello rings out high pitched - her mother's voice.
'What are you doing tonight? Because there's this party in Kensington a
whole bunch of people I know are going to. Just wondered if you wanted
to come too.'
'Sounds a bit heavy.' She says instantly regretting it.
Her ear hurts he's so loud, must be in a street somewhere.
'So you're just going to have a quiet evening?'
'Yeah I think so.'
'Ok then.'
He starts to tell her about how he's in Covent Garden wearing flares
and it's just poured it down and water has got trapped in his flares,
and now he's going home to dry out.
'You talk very fast'
'Well I'll make a mental note of that for Thursday.'
'Wednesday,' she corrects him.

She puts the phone down. Feels like a fool. Disastrous
conversation.
'You talk very fast' why did she say that? Why didn't she ask him more
about the party? She should have been upforit. She doesn't go to any
parties anymore. She feels like an old woman. She has lost out on
charlesjudd - she knows it.

*

Monday at work, barrister man has emailed asking if she would like to
meet him. She says yes.

He is late. She stands with her stomach in her mouth in Angel station
searching people's faces. When they look at her she blinks away. Surely
he will recognise her.

After half an hour he does. She realises his photos must have been
quite old. His receding hairline wasn't part of her imaginations. They
go to a pub nearby and she can't think of a thing to say. She is
starting to have the worst regrets - her panic thoughts taking over,
disabling her mouth. He doesn't talk - waits for her to entertain him.
She has a glass of shiraz to help her out: to loosen her tongue, her
brain. Instead it helps to loosen her bowels. She sits on the toilet
for at least ten minutes. It is only 8.30.

She goes back to the table and says she feels unwell.
'Unwell? You look fine to me. Have another drink?'

She feels burdened. She says she is sorry, she must go. He walks her to
the station. He tells her some people from his work are drinking around
the corner. Letting her off the hook or lying she isn't quite
sure.

At work on Tuesday there is an email waiting for her from barrister
man. He says he had a good time. Did he think she had? She deletes
it.

*

She writes to a guy called Roamer, he wants to travel the world, Azzran
- she queries him over his name, Bretzy - whose picture has a blue sky
behind him, Peri who is Australian.

A Turkish guy emails her and asks her if she wants a friend in Turkey.
A Nigerian guy tells her he would like to engage in serious a
relationship with her, if she doesn't mind. A 55-year-old called
fitanfun asks if she would she like an older friend.

By the end of the week there is no word from charlesjudd.

She realises none of the guys she emailed are going to reply.

She doesn't renew her subscription.

She consistently searches the internet for entertainment but finds
nothing. She logs onto another dating site and finds that although the
men are different essentially they are the same. They use their real
names but they are still fakes.