I received an interesting phone call a while back. It was from a college friend of mine, Chloe, who I hadn’t talked to in a while. We spent a few minutes catching up, and then she brought up the real reason behind her call. Chloe wanted to borrow some of my camping gear. She also asked if I could explain how to use it. This seemed like a very random request. I’ve known this girl for almost ten years, and in that time she had never been camping. In fact, to my knowledge, she’s never worn a pair of sneakers. Chloe is from Manhattan; she was 17 before she saw a forest in person.
Chloe had been seeing a new guy, Steve, for about a month. Steve loved activities like camping, hiking, base-jumping – all past-times that my friend had no knowledge of, and even less interest in. They matched up in almost every other category though; both worked in finance, loved Tom Petty, and hated garlic; you know … the important things. To Chloe, a little lie or two about her outdoor experience was justified. She wanted to get closer to Steve by taking part in his favorite activities. Chloe also reasoned that since she’d never been camping, or even outside for more than a few hours, she didn't know if she liked camping or not. This was the perfect opportunity for her to find out.
As it turned out, Chloe did NOT enjoy camping, in fact, she actually despised it. After our phone call, I met up with Chloe, camping gear in hand. I gave her a quick demonstration of each item and big hug for luck. I was only 50% sure that she would return, and 80% sure that she was going to put high heels into her backpack. There were way too many things that could go wrong, and, shockingly, most of them did. Their weekend away began badly and continued to get worse with each passing hour. It was like a live version of a B-rated romantic comedy minus the happy ending.
Less than an hour into their trip, the couple got completely lost on the drive to the campsite. They arrived so late that they had to set up their equipment in the dark. Chloe forgot to load half of the food they had purchased for the trip into the car. So that evening’s dinner consisted of dry Kashi cereal, cheetos, and red wine. Chloe had made a valiant attempt at putting up the tent while Steve started a fire, but she wasn’t quite successful. It looked fine, but an hour after they fell asleep the tent collapsed on them, causing Chloe to scream at a pitch that only a few animals can here. Steve tried to fix the tent in complete darkness, and he wound up breaking one of the support poles. For the rest of the night, rain water would pool on top of the tent until the canvas could no longer support the extra weight and then, like a trap door being opened, the rain water would pour into the tent soaking their feet and anything else that was located close by.
The next morning an unhappy Chloe could barely maintain her composure. She tried her best to smile and have fun while silently regretting that she lied in the first place. Steve could clearly tell that this wasn’t her dream weekend, and their conversations were becoming shorter and more uncomfortable by the minute. Steve had planned an all-day hike for their second day in the woods. In less than two hours Chloe had blisters on both feet; bug bites on her arms and legs courtesy of some unusually aggressive, and possibly pre-historic, mosquitoes; and she was ready to trade her parents to a tribe of cannibals for a hot shower.
Later that night it began to rain again, and Chloe finally came unglued. She threw a temper tantrum, cursing Steve, the trip, and Mother Nature herself. Seriously. Chloe went all “two-year old tantrum” on his ass. Steve was furious that she had lied about her lack of camping experience, and refused to speak for the rest of the night. The fighting couple left the next morning at 6 a.m. As a final “fuck you” from nature, Chloe slipped on a hill that was only minutes from the car. She landed hard in what she thought was mud. It only took her a few seconds to realize that she was lying in a pile of dog droppings. All she could scream was, “Shit!”
While Chloe filled me in on her camping trip from hell, it made me wonder why so many people put themselves in that position. We have all done it, and most of the time ended up regretting it. There are many reasons why feigning interest in things we don’t like is a bad idea. First off, YOU’RE LYING! It may not be as bad as hiding the fact that you are married, but it’s still not going to go over well. Sure, you can try to justify your deception, but a lie is a lie. You are seriously screwing your relationship karma, and as they say, karma is a bitch.
Second, what if you find that you hate the very thing you claim to enjoy? Saying you love renaissance fairs is one thing, but going to one every single weekend is going to wear thin after a while. You will have no choice but to suck it up, put on medieval keg-wench costume you had to spend $300 on, and spend your precious time off watching grown men dance around in capes and have fake sword fights. This is how drinking problems get started.
I’m guilty of this action too; I faked my enthusiasm for something that I didn’t really like just to impress a guy. This man was a techno super-fan and I told him I like that kind of music. Wow! That was a bad move; like “deciding to get a face tattoo while being on a five day drinking bender in Bangladesh” kind of bad. But, this guy was hot and funny; it seemed like a good trade-off at the time. I bluffed my way through our first conversation, and I attempted to learn as much as I could on the subject before I saw him again. I went to my local music store and grabbed a handful of CDs by the artists that “Techno Boy” had been praising. About five minutes into my research I realized I had just wasted $75 on the worst music ever created. Seriously, that shit is terrible. I believe techno started out as the theme music for hell. It’s not music; it is 30 car alarms going off all at once. I wouldn’t be surprised if techno music was found to cause seizures in long-time listeners.
It didn’t take long for me to decide that Techno Boy was not worth making my ears bleed. Yes, he was a good guy and I always enjoyed my time with him. I couldn’t come clean and tell him that I had faked my love for repetitive bass lines and glow sticks, so I blamed my school schedule when I suddenly stopped answering his calls. Our relationship ended well; we remained friends. Yet, I wonder how far we could have gone if I was simply honest about my musical preferences.
It may seem harmless to us when we agree that old radio restoration is an exhilarating pastime, but our tune changes when we are the ones being deceived. I think having common interests can be great for a relationship; it’s nice to be able to share our passions with the person we love. If your significant other secretly hates going to museums with you, he or she is going to try to persuade you to do something else. You can become resentful when you find out that your love really doesn’t dig going to tag sales. It sucks to become the victim of false advertising; there is no refund for lost time.
In a strange twist of fate, Chloe’s lies led her to meet a man who honestly enjoyed all the same things she did. She had purchased some camping gear of her own for the trip. She couldn’t return the equipment fast enough. While waiting in line, she talked to the man behind her. He was exchanging a fishing pole that he received as a birthday present. The two started talking to each other, laughing about their various run-ins with Mother Nature. Within minutes they exchanged phone numbers and they have been dating ever since. None of their dates have included mud, trees, or Kashi cereal.
As for me, I traded in the techno CDs for music I really liked, and vowed never to put myself in that position again. In the end, relationships do not need identical pastimes to succeed, but without honestly and communication they will always fail. If you want to find a person who fits you, you need to know what kind of person you are first. And that is no lie.
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