Millennial Cupid Contest

The 'Lean Mean Love Machine' Blows a Fuse

"Dammit!", Cupid fumed, strangling the phone in his tight grasp.

"What?"

"I swiped left," he spat out the word. "Do you know how infuriating it is to stalk someone, hack into their account, swipe through 462 guys, then swipe left on the wrong one?" Cupid threw his hands up in frustration. "I wish we could go back to the days where it was as simple as shooting people with arrows." The the phone dropped onto the table, as he groaned into his hands.

His assistant, Julianna, nodded, absentmindedly examining her freshly manicured nails. Her blonde hair was perpetually tied in a messy bun, and she clocked an irregularly high number of hours on social media, not demoting the perceptions of millennials. "At least back then, that was your outlet to all your anger management issues. Now, you just shoot defenceless bunnies," she stated emotionlessly.

Cupid glared at her. "Why do you think those 'defenceless bunnies' have so many babies?", he fired back, aiming a perfectly arched eyebrow at her. She answered him with the click-clacking of her nails, as she ignored him, and typed on her phone.

He heaved a heavy sigh, and stood up, summoning all his will power to pick up the backstabbing phone again. "That's it," —he squinted at the name on the screen —"she'll just have to settle for Tony," Cupid said, unenthusiastically dragging his finger as he swiped right. "It's a match." He threw up his hands in sarcastic excitement.

"Isn't that your job?", Julianna mocked, scrolling through the Instagram feed on her phone.

Cupid looked to the heavens. "Why, oh, why, did you give me Julianna?", he muttered quietly.

"Because the last time you were on your own, you thought Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears would make a cute couple," she stated matter-of-factly, still not tearing her eyes away from her phone.

He glowered at her, tugging his baby pink blazer down in irritation. "Please, I'm the Lean Mean Love Machine." Julianna scoffed but the sound of a ping pulled Cupid's attention away from the blonde.

Cupid proceeded to read the text he, or more accurately, Vanessa, had received from Tony. When Tony's true meaning dawned on Cupid, his eyes widened and he blanched, attempting to blink away the silence he was shocked into.

When he composed himself again, he closed his mouth, which had somehow fallen open, and slumped into a chair. He set the unwelcome, demeaning message as far away from him as he could — as if the distance would somehow create a barrier between him and the sexually inappropriate messages about him, or rather Vanessa.

He took a deep breath, still hazy from the confrontation of modern courtship. "Hey, Julianna?", he asked, looking over to her.

"Yeah?", she grumbled.

"Please tell me I'm reading this wrong." He hesitantly passed her the phone.

Julianna's eyes flickered over the message. "Nope," she popped the 'p' nonchalantly, returning her attention to her own phone. "Welcome to the virtual world of love," she deadpanned.

"Wait," Cupid blurted. "This is how guys treat girls?", he screeched. "This"—he pointed to the phone—"is normal? Cupid's eyes were wide, the notion leaving him dumbstruck.

"On those sites, yeah, but usually they are not so upfront about it. And, unfortunately, there are some girls that treat guys like that too." She shrugged. "It's the reason I don't have Tinder."

Another ping interjected the conversation.

"Why would he said me an eggplant emoji?", Cupid questioned aloud, staring at the text.

Julianna shot him a look, and his eyes widened in comprehension.

"No...", he trailed off.

"Uh-huh," she confirmed, inspecting her nails again. "Are you...okay?" She looked at Cupid skeptically. "You look like you're having an existential crisis."

Cupid gulped. "I'm fine," he said uncertainly.

"Cool, 'cause we still have to do our jobs."

"And what exactly is your job?", He challenged.

Julianna pursed her cosmetically pink lips, filing her nails. "Babysitting."

"Is that supposed to be funny, Barbie?", Cupid deadpanned, staring off into the distance, secretly stuck on pondering how people could treat other people, mostly of the female persuasion, as commodities or objects in society.

"Well, at least, the world doesn't think and believe I'm a sexualised baby," she jested back. Julianna sighed at Cupid's unresponsive state, clicking her fingers in front of his face. "Yo, Loverboy, enough with the sullen mood, get to work," she ordered sternly.

"What happened to the days of girls dropping handkerchiefs on the floor, and guys writing poetry and buying roses to win a girl's heart?", he muttered, rising from the chair with the mobile device in his hand.

"Those days got stuck in the movies."

Cupid blew out air through his nose. "Ok, we'll try this again." He opened the phone to Tinder, and swiped right. Attempting to restore his faith in humanity, and find someone for Vanessa to settle with, as you know, he accidentally let Vanessa's soulmate slip through his fingers. Literally.

'It's a match.'

He smirked, a self-satisfied smirk, which slowly disintegrated as through 5 short texts, a guy named Mitchell, asked if he, a.k.a Vanessa, would be his booty-call girl.

He turned to Julianna. Hands on his hips, he asked her, "Do I look like I want to be a booty-call girl?", he said through a clenched jaw.

She took in his appearance. Out worldly, Cupid looked like a really good-looking 20-something-year-old male, with ash blond hair and defined cheekbones — in a baby pink suit. "The world does think you live in diapers, and your whole vibe is love, so do you really want me to answer that?"

Ping.

He glimpsed at the message.

"That's it!" he yelled. He took a deep breath and exhaled. He flicked his hand out and, calmly said, "Love is dead. I quit." Cupid then slammed the phone down on the table and stormed out, leaving a very stunned Julianna staring at his back.

"I guess love won't find a way," she mumbled, once again, swiping through her phone.