A Real Story

I downloaded the app out of pure boredom — Chicago O’Hare, gate C14, a four-hour delay, and a vending machine that had eaten my dollar twice. It was one of those flirt-specific apps, the kind built for quick back-and-forth banter rather than essay-length bios, so I figured it’d at least be entertaining. Within ten minutes a guy named on his profile as ‘Professional Nap Enthusiast’ sent me the line: ‘On a scale of turbulence to full engine fire, how bad is your day going?’ It was dumb. I laughed out loud in the food court, which is embarrassing when you’re alone eating a $14 pretzel.

We kept messaging through my delay and, it turned out, through his — he was two gates over, also stuck, also furious about the pretzel prices. I sent him a photo of mine out of spite and he walked over holding an identical one like we’d rehearsed it. We ended up sitting together for the rest of the layover, trading terrible airport small talk, and when my flight finally boarded he’d already asked for my number the normal way, not the app way.

We kept texting after that, low stakes, no pressure, just funny voice memos about our respective terrible days. Three weeks later he flew out to see me on a weekend he didn’t need to use, and six months in, we still call it ‘the pretzel incident.’ I’ve since deleted the app — not out of some grand romantic gesture, just because I don’t need it anymore — but I’ll defend flirt apps forever for anyone who wants something low-key that doesn’t ask you to write a personal essay before you’re allowed to say hi.