VLAD THE IMPALER, OFFICE BANTZ & YELLOW THUMBS

We’ll call her Janet. Janet was a colleague. A Janet who was a dissatisfied regular on every one of the dating apps she qualified for. “Listen to this…” Janet one day read out to the office, “Stephen likes making his own sourdough and clay pigeon shooting. Bore-ring! And OMG - check out his pics…” And we all gathered round and peered at poor, optimistic, oblivious to the scrutiny Stephen, kneading with a knowing wink in one photo, air-rifle in hand and wink in the eye again in the other. “He likes winking”, I said. “I hope so” said Janet “’Cos I’m not meeting up with him.” My entire journey home that evening was spent musing on how our most infamous historical figures – the celebrities of bygone days - would or wouldn’t have coped with the minefield of these online interactions. The intimate but remote game of how your heart teeters on a precipice for the right emoji or swipe, even if you’re Vlad the Impaler. Yes even he would need a “Justina liked your comment I Should Cocoa” . Or Queen Boudica, say, holding her furious, Icini breath as she stares like thunder for a text response to her warrior-pose selfie watching three dots appear then disappear and then reappear again only to disappear altogether forever. Uprisings have been sparked by less. There’s no doubt about it, online dating brings out your fragile. Back to Janet. Weeks passed and somehow Stephen returned on the radar but now as a suitable suitor instead of a sourdough making saddo. I didn’t question it – the gig is tough, after all – and Janet was enjoying his banter. “Quick - help me reply” She said. “He’s being funny about his haemorrhoids but in a really humorous way. C’mon, what shall I say?!” “Say “thanks - I’ve always enjoyed a sonnet,” I said. “Always. Enjoyed. A sonnet…is that two n’s in sonnet” Said Janet, blithely typing. “Wait. You didn’t send that did you?” I cried. “Send. Yes I did.” “Oh god” “And he’s already responded.” “Downward yellow thumb?” “Crying laughing face! Now you have to come up with something else…But make it funnier.” And this was how I became the Cyrano d’Office replying to all of Janet’s dating communications with Stephen which ran at a steady rate - with the odd flurry - throughout the day. It was an exhausting business – mainly because I was keen to maintain the standard of a job I actually wanted to stop doing. Once you have a reputation for being good at something, it’s hard to throw it even when that thing is fraudulent messages that are about as funny my favourite oxymoron’s - Radio 4 Comedy. So I really concentrated on my Cyrano work and thus they became very close without even meeting. So close that Janet finally decided it was time for a first date and then, who knows, she said with a Stephen like wink, perhaps marriage. I was excited for her, and rather concerned , and then excited again. After all, I’d put a lot of effort into this sham working out. I waited with great anticipation for news. Alas the next day we were informed at work first thing by our CEO that Janet wouldn’t be coming in. In fact She would be taking the entire week off. “Has something…happened?” I asked weakly, trying not to look at Janet’s empty chair, all my dazzling wordplay of recent weeks already haunting me “Apparently she met up with a man last night who’s scammed her of all her money. She checked her account after he’d left and every penny’s gone”. It turns out Stephen doesn’t even exist. He’s a con-artist called Roger Dean and the only dough he actually kneaded was in Janet’s wallet. Sorry. My mobile buzzed a message. Inevitable notification from Janet. I opened it and read: “Cyrano you’re effing fired”. And that, I thought, was fair enough. Poor old Janet. And poor old me. I thought Stephen and I were onto something good.