Looking for Love in Cyberspace Isn’t as Easy--or Safe--as It Seems

It started innocently enough. I signed up with an on-line service and was enjoying sending and receiving e-mail with friends around the country.

Like many subscribers, I had submitted a profile that listed the city I live in, my marital status, occupation and hobbies--and noted that I enjoyed people with a sense of humor. In retrospect, I’m glad I didn’t list my name.

One evening when I signed on, I had e-mail from someone new. “Hi!” the posted message read. “I see that you are also in San Diego and single--and I thought we might be compatible?”

The writer--who signed himself Tom--went on to tell a little about himself. He wrote so well I thought he must be a professional.

Intrigued, I wrote back to thank him for the message and asked him to tell me more about himself--”to ascertain that you’re not an ax murderer or a very gifted 12-year-old kid.”

Tom wrote back and said he worked for a software company and had been a Navy pilot with nearly 400 aircraft carrier landings in 10 years. He said he was a commercial pilot as well. He told me his hometown, where he went to college and that he had traveled all over the world.

My interest was definitely piqued. I had just been on a 24-hour media tour on the aircraft carrier Abraham Lincoln. I wrote back to Tom about the excitement of catapulting off the ship and tail-hook landings.

For the next several days, Tom and I exchanged notes--nothing sensual, just friendly. We discovered both our fathers had been World War II pilots.

Tom had charm and wit, and I found myself looking forward each morning to his latest note. When I told him that, he responded that he, too, enjoyed mine.

This was really fun, and in the back of my romantic mind I thought, wouldn’t it be something to actually meet someone this way? I knew of two couples who had met via computers.

After a week of information exchange and banter, Tom suggested that we meet “in 3-dimension.”

“It could be for coffee, a drink, or dinner--somewhere nice,” he wrote.

I wrote back that I’d like that and suggested we meet for a drink after work. We exchanged work numbers and talked on the phone, picking a restaurant. We agreed to meet at 4:30 p.m. the next day.

“How will I know you?” he asked.

“Look for the hazel-eyed blonde,” I said. “I’m 5’ 5” and I’ll be carrying a magazine.”

“I’m six feet tall and have brown hair and brown eyes,” he said. “Bring your photos and article about your experience on the carrier, and I’ll bring some of my Navy stuff to show you.”

I looked forward to meeting Tom, thinking that at the very least he sounded like someone who would be an interesting friend.

I arrived at the restaurant at 4:30. No one who might be Tom was there. I waited. And waited. Finally, at 5, I called home to check my messages. No message from him. Shortly after 5, I headed home to e-mail him. I had never been stood up before and felt that there was some explanation.

I wrote him: “Tom, what happened? I was at the restaurant from 4:30-5. Somehow we missed each other. Call me when you get home and we can reschedule.”

No call. But one minute later, he replied by e-mail. “SHAME ON YOU. I don’t appreciate being lied to. Don’t you EVER write to me again.”

What?

I had written to him at 5:29. At 5:30 he sent the bizarre note. It was eerie, as though he had just been sitting there, waiting to hear from me.

I was completely baffled. I’m used to meeting strangers at restaurants to interview for articles and have never had trouble connecting. Tom had never shown up. What was going on?

I relayed the experience to friends. “There are a lot of Internet nuts out there. You can’t be too trusting,” said one. “Look, folks sit behind a computer keyboard and can pretend to be anyone they want. He may have never been a pilot. He could be married. Maybe he gets his kicks and feeds his ego from leading women on.”

“He could have been a real nut and have just waited in his car at the restaurant and then followed you home,” my brother said.

I thought of a woman I had read about in a newspaper who had fallen in love and become engaged to her cyberspace cupid. Then one day she received a call from the “sister” of her fiance, who informed her of the man’s sudden death.

Later, it turned out, it had been the “sister” all along who had posed on-line as a romantic male suitor.

When I tell my friends my story, I caution them not to list their real names on the member profiles, and to be very careful what personal information they reveal.

Millions of folks out there are signed on-line. And, as in anything, a percentage of them are not honest or nice. And may even be psycho.

Maybe next time I’ll stick with the old-fashioned blind date.