Psyche Evaluation.

"Have a seat."

I do. It's not often I get called into the office. It's a nice office. Much better than I would have expected. I was expecting frantic chaos: More Hyde and Jeckle, not Steelcase and maple palate.

"I bet you're wondering why I've brought you in here?"

Yeah…I am wondering. I haven't had a one-on-one with my psyche in a long time. Normally it's just a group gathering of collective personalities. I'm not used to being singled out. I shrug. "I just figured you'd tell me."

Psyche, leans over the desk staring at an open manila folder. "This should be obvious. I know we haven't had a sit down for a while, but it's time for your post-date evaluation."

"My what?"

He sighs and leans into his wingback, fingers latticed behind his head. "Rob, you went on a date one week ago. It's time we talked."

"Talked?"

"Yes, talked. It's time for your evaluation."

"My evaluation?"

"Yes, and why are you answering me with questions. Are you defensive?"

"Defensive?' I'm fidgeting a bit. I don't like these things. My arms are melding to the chair arms, pretend I look casual, but in my head I know I look like a guy waiting for the governors call 30 seconds before the warden flicks a switch.

Click! Foom!

Psyche lights a cigarette.

"you smoke?"

"only for effect." A Zippo I hadn't even noticed before slips back into Psyche's inner jacket. He puffs a shaft of pale gas that billows and rolls into itself before it reaching me. "nothing harmful, just blowing smoke. But let's talk about you. How would you rate your performance on your last date?"

"I dunno. Above average?"

"Really?" I swear his eyebrows rise and fall like double jump-ropes while the eyes beneath flutter. He stretches forward, tamps the butt in a wrought iron maiden ashtray, then draws back into the chair, grabbing the folder, his fingers flip through a mini ream, "Is that really what you think?" his eyes glance up as if to ask, "Is that your final answer?"

"Well yeah. I she seemed to have a good time. I was conversational, she left happy, what would be better?"

A silence crashes the room like a bull in a matador shop. When the air is thick with the arterial spray of accusation, Psyche says, "Let me tell you how we see things. We see this as a 'meets' date."

That's it! I'm on my feet leaning over his desk. "Meets? What? How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Relax," he brushes his fingers towards me without looking up from the folder. "Sit down, this is for your benefit. I'm here to help--to facilitate. We'd like to believe you'll be with us for a while. This is just you and I looking at ways to improve your performance. A meets is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Performance? Just what are we talking about here?"

"Calm down Rob. This is to help, Nobody's pointing fingers, and this is not to belittle you."

Yes it is, but I don't say it. I flop back into the chair. I don't have the charisma to carry off a "meets" date belly flop. I need to rock with an "exceeds," triple back flip or learn to enjoy quiet failure alone. I stare at my hand, but it only shivers; it's with my no matter how this shakes out.

"So how did you come to 'meets?' Is it something she said? Cuz I have some things to say about her too."

He pulls a notecard from a paperclip on the folder, "This?" the card looks blank to me. Psyche flips it in his fingers, it looks blank on that side too. "This is only her opinion, and we don't use it in these evaluations. You know that. Everybody's different Rob. You can only be you. Your evaluation is on how we saw your performance, not on how she saw it."

"Oh…" this could be worse than I thought. Suddenly I'm happy for a "meets."

"Where do you see your strengths?"

Uh-oh…a trick question. "Well, I did the best with the situation. I was funny, conversational, I could have been more romantic, but the event seemed casual, I didn't want to over play it."

"Ok. I'll agree with you on most of that. You did adapt well, and yes, Rob, you are funny, and conversational. I gave you an exceeds there. And unlike the Denise debacle of 92, you didn't bury her in an avalanche of Rob babble. That was good. You also took interest in things she said. She talked about plays she liked and you remembered. Good…good"

He rolls some pages over the top of the folder, then closes the cover before putting it down. wrapping his hands before his chin, Psyche looks me in the eye, "let me ask you this: why no flowers? You remembered her favorite types, why didn't you pick any up?"

"Uh.." good question, "I was distracted. The perfect time was when I was bringing the car back from the shop."

"yes it was the perfect time," he nods, "What about the car door?"

"What about it?"

"You never opened it for her. You know better. You had at least 5 chances, and you didn't do that once. You did hold other doors though, so you weren't a complete doorstop, but that's why your only getting a "needs work" on chivalry."

He's right! How did I forget? I think back on that and all the little things I used to do. All the little ways I used to make my date feel special. It's like I forgot who I was. I was just another guy walking through a date. That's not me, I'm better.

My psyche continues to work down the list of things I did and things I didn't do. I nod and listen. When he's done, I affirm his sentiment.

"I sucked."

"No, you didn't suck. You were ok, but you've been better. We need to get you back there. It just takes practice."

"So that's why this didn't work out, huh?"

"No, I wouldn't say that. But I will say there will come a date when you need your A game, and you better be ready to give it. That's why we're here."

"So what now?"

"Get back out there and practice."

I push myself from the chair. I feel like I've been beaten up. I guess some things never change. I'm still my own biggest critic.

Next time I'll be better. I'll practice.