Many years ago, while hanging out at a cafe with friends, my eye caught that of one man’s and we smiled. Instantly, I felt attracted to him, and when he gave his business card to a friend, I squinted across the table, trying to read the phone number. All I could see was his last name, or so I thought; later at home, scanning the directory’s white pages, I couldn’t locate him, nor could San Francisco information.

I hoped fervently I would meet him again at the cafe, but he didn’t show up. I fantasized about running into him at every event I attended. When these daydreams didn’t materialize, I contemplated a Missed Connections ad, but wondered if he would notice it.

Slowly I let go of ever seeing him again. Many weeks later, I started a new job at a local newspaper. My co-worker handed me a pile of ads to enter into the computer. Selecting the first one, I entered the advertiser’s phone number and pressed return. Instantly, my dream date’s full name and address flashed on to the screen while I sat there in shock.

Another time, while at work, a woman called. “Hello, I’ve just arrived from London and want to answer an ad. How do I do it?” I suggested the 900 number or our prepaid calling card. She decided to try the 900 line, but soon called to say it hadn’t worked because she was at a hotel. Again I tried to enthrall her with the wonders of our calling cards. She complained, “It’s so complicated here. In London you call and immediately get connected to the advertiser. Isn’t there any way I can get through as I’ve come all the way from London to escape Christmas, and this advertiser is searching for other Jewish women to hang out with?”            

A shiver zigzagged through me. “Actually,” I said, “I’m the advertiser.”