Missing In Action

In which two hopeful romantics cross paths—and purposes.

Anyone who’s taken high-school economics will recall that the Law of Scarcity is based on two founding principles: Man has unlimited wants, and resources are limited. It’s that hard-to-get factor, of course, that adds to an item’s desirability. And though the jury’s out on whether there are enough “certain someones” for everyone in the world, the idea that an alleged certain someone is made more desirable by his or her unavailability has a proven track record. Nowhere is this more evident, I recently discovered, than in the “you slipped through my fingers” Missed Connections section of Craigslist.

It was a rainy night in a series of rainy nights when I saw him riding on the 2 Clement. Jules and I were headed to dinner when I caught the eye of a supremely handsome, well-groomed blond guy standing by the door. He was preppier than the guys I’m usually attracted to—not in a trendy, Vampire Weekend sort of way, but in a Banana Republic–ad sort of way. Still, there was something about his tweed blazer, weathered briefcase and Wall Street Journal tucked just so under his arm that said, “I’m exactly the sort of guy you should be going for.” We volleyed a few feigned-discreet looks between us until it was time to get off the bus, and when I brushed past him on my way out, I worked up the courage to lock eyes with him at close range and smile, incurring a wildfire-grade blush across my cheeks. I looked back behind me, and he smiled and raised a hand to the window to wave goodbye. 

“‘I lost my love on the 2 Clement.’ It sounds like the makings of a hit country song,” Jules sighed when I filled her in on the wordless romance that had transpired right under her nose. “Why don’t you place a ‘missed connection’?” she suggested. At first I scoffed at the notion, but after we shared a bottle of wine over dinner, the idea was sounding more appealing. What did I have to lose? After all, it was anonymous.

I decided to bypass the typical missed-connections formula—“Me: girl of your dreams/You: a well-to-do-looking type/Us: meant to be”—in favor of something more straightforward: “I was a rainy mess wearing a black coat and sitting with my friend on the bus. You were really cute, blond and standing by the door with your umbrella and briefcase. My stop came before we’d said hello, and I regret that. Do you?”

Three days later, I got a response in my inbox. My hand was actually shaking as I clicked on the message—a very tiny part of me (if, by tiny, we’re talking 51 percent) wondering: “Is this email from my Muni soulmate?”

“Hey, I work on Clement,” it read. “My hair is kinda blond, but more brown. I wear glasses but perhaps not if it was raining. I would have boarded the bus near Burma Superstar. I’m such a romantic, it’s probably not me—but worth a shot!” It was definitely not him—my stop was ages before Burma Superstar and my intended was definitely blond—but I was still cheered by the response. There was something life-affirming about putting a message in a bottle and getting one in return. I decided to write back: “Thanks for the response. No, it wasn’t you, but I’m clearly a romantic also, so I appreciate the response regardless.”

Within 10 minutes, he’d replied. “Well, if we’re both such romantics, how about we plan a missed connection? Every Saturday, I read the paper and have lunch at 1 p.m. at Q. I’ve taken the liberty of attaching my photo so you will know whom to plan on missing. —Jarrett.”

Jarrett had attached a photo of himself eating a slice of pizza with a caption that read, “Is there anything better than pizza?” There was something better, I decided, and it was Jarrett’s curly brown hair, unkempt scruff, perfect teeth and blue eyes. Jarrett was cuter than my crush on the 2.

“You have to go!” Sia squealed when I recounted my Craigslist adventure over brunch at Chouquet’s on Saturday morning. “If only for the story.”

I decided to follow her advice. Of course, I happened to leave out the fact that I had Googled Jarrett (his full name appeared in his email address) and found his MySpace page. As it turned out, he was a musician. And in his “pics” section there was an image captioned “me and my lady.” Perhaps he had yet to update his profile? I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

When I arrived at Q, I immediately spotted Jarrett sitting with a cup of coffee and the paper. I took a deep breath and approached his table. He sensed my presence and put down the paper, looked up at me and smiled. “Are you who I think you are?” I nodded yes and introduced myself. “Take a seat!” he enthused. Jarrett seemed totally at ease.

“So are you a missed-connections regular?” I laughed.

“I don’t know about regular,” he said. “But it is my favorite section. I’ve had some really positive experiences.”

His use of “experiences” made me wonder whether I’d been completely naïve to post an earnest “saw you on the bus” message in a realm that, perhaps, was a thinly veiled extension of Casual Encounters. It was as if I’d wandered into Blockbuster and gamely inquired where the Betamax section was.

“In the spirit of full disclosure,” I said, “I found your MySpace page and couldn’t help but notice that it appeared as though you may have a girlfriend … ” I trailed off.

Jarrett looked surprised. Surprising, considering his name was plainly listed in his email address. To not Google him would be strange. “Yes, I have a girlfriend. I’m not trying anything sneaky, though. I like meeting new people. People are lyrics waiting to happen,” he said. I could tell he was quite pleased with that line. I didn’t even want to think about how much mileage he’d gotten out of it, but after letting it sink in for a moment I realized it was applicable to my own intentions: Sure, I was enchanted by the idea of recognizing that perfect person and being brought together by an Internet-powered form of fate, but as runner-up to that, I’d repurposed my 2 Clement crush as a lyric in a little song designed to entertain myself called “Jarrett is probably a skeeze, but why not meet him anyway?” I tuned back in and noticed that he’d interpreted my silence as calling his bluff. “Okay, ” he conceded. “Sometimes I wonder if girls are looking my way—to see if I’ve still got it.”

I decided to skip the “people are lyrics” thing and tackle his last statement. “But answering a missed connection that you’re not even sure is you when you have a girlfriend is beyond ‘Do I still got it?’,” I said. “It’s more like, ‘Is a total stranger pining for me—so much so that she decides to post a missed connection?’”

Jarrett squinted at me and leaned back in his chair. “I love your honesty,” he said. “You’re right. That’s a line of BS. Lately my eye has been wandering, and I guess I’m trying to figure out why that is.” I almost felt bad for him. “If it’s any consolation, I think everyone has their relationship doubts,” I said. “As for meeting up with strangers on Craigslist, that’s something you might want to take a look at.” We made small talk for a few minutes—as much as you can make small talk with a guy who just confessed his Craigslist exhibitionistic tendencies. “I have another connection to meet across town,” I joked by way of an exit.

“I won’t keep you,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to miss him.” 

Despite the complete lack of romance in the encounter—for myself, for Jarrett and for Jarrett’s unsuspecting girlfriend—I left feeling oddly upbeat. Even if one couldn’t control exactly how life threw people together, it was a reminder that one could at least elect to swim in that randomness. It was probably better to leave the scheduling of missed meetings to fate. But if by chance a faithful adherence to the schedule of the 2 Clement played into fate’s hand—well, then, all the better.  x

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