Losers, Creeps, Jerks and Weirdos Exceprt

 

Chapter Title: NOW YOU SEE HIM; NOW YOU DON'T

Phil was a surgeon, 45, divorced 13 years, childless, and a typical commitment phobic, among other things. He split his time between his medical practice in Santa Barbara, California, and Vail, Colorado. We met by coincidence at a holiday party and exchanged business cards.

About two weeks later Phil telephoned. This is when I learned that not only did I have this uncanny ability to attract every loser, creep, jerk, and weirdo in my state, but my skill seemed to work equally well across state lines.

Phil and I had not communicated since our initial introduction over the holidays, so when the telephone rang and it was Phil I was expecting to ease into conversation that would pick up where we had left off. That was my mindset when Phil, right after he said hello, hit me with, "Do you have a No. 2 pencil? I'm going to give you a test." Yes--you heard right--a test; it was a bad flashback to when the teacher would announce "pop quiz."

For the next 60 minutes (give or take) Phil administered the Myers-Briggs personality test to me...all 70 questions. Then he scored it. My Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) was identified as EFSJ. I don't remember what being an EFSJ supposedly suggested about my personality, but I do remember that his MBTI was not a strong complement to mine. And I'll never forget that we spent another hour talking about our MBTI differences (well, Phil talked; I mostly listened). It would not be a stretch to say that Phil was borderline obsessive about the all-revealing, all-predicting Myers-Briggs. He was a Myers-Briggs believer. Can I hear an "Amen!" boys and girls?

Suffice it to say, we were off to an unusual start, but I was cautious not to lose objectivity. For one, I liked Phil's sarcastic sense of humor. Two, he was an interesting intellect. Three, he showed some caring traits. Add these three things up and his quirkiness was small potatoes.

Phil's career and two-state office arrangement meant that 90 percent of our "dating" was of the phone variety, and, first phone date aside, we had some very riveting conversations. You cannot learn everything there is to know about a person over phone lines, but you can make a pretty good dent. Phil had provided me with every number imaginable so I could reach him anywhere, anytime--his private office line, his cellular, his pager, his home telephone, his e-mail, and his assistant was under strict orders to find him whenever I called. So, although Phil wasn't physically available, he was about as technologically available as one could be. We spoke at least three to four times a week for several months, and then--poof!--he was gone.

What do I mean by "gone?" If you want to label his disappearance, please select from the following:

1. Cold feet
2. Relationship suffocation
3. Too comfortable, too fast

Years earlier, I would have spent an inordinate amount of time analyzing the situation and placing blame on myself for him pulling back. Thank goodness I wised up! I placed a single phone call to his home to say I had enjoyed getting to know him and wished him well. Then I simply "let it go." That, ladies, is freedom.

It was early June when I next heard from Phil. He blamed his absence on a busier than normal workload (just to be clear, I didn't ask for an explanation) and soon we were back into our previous pattern. By August, you guessed it, he was gone again.

This cycle continued for two more runs, in total just over a year, before I completely tired of the merry-go-round.

"Phil, are you interested in marrying again, honestly?"

"Some days I think I want to, but other days I'm really glad to be alone. To be completely honest, I'm not comfortable with the "C" word. My first marriage was difficult; we fought all the time. I think you are a fine woman, Victoria, but I worry because as an ESFJ we clash in some critical areas. I swear by the accuracy of the Myers-Briggs test; we have used it as part of the employment screening in my medical practice for years and it has yet to throw us a curve."

"Wow, I failed my first test at 37, imagine that."

"If it helps, you're in good company--no one I have dated the past dozen years has been a strong complement to my score. Why can't we just continue 'as is.' Perhaps with a little more time..."

"'As is?' I don't think so."

Caveat emptor, sister!