Context: I’d been chatting with “Insurance” long enough to be fairly confident he wasn’t a serial killer and know that he had a steady job at a local health care insurance company. Paying job, won’t kill me – sounds like a good date!
It was a dreary winter in my college town, and I was in the mood for a nice, hot cup of coffee with a nice, hot man. “Insurance” had been begging me to meet up, so I took him up on an opportunity for free coffee at the Caribou right off campus. I pop in and sit down across from a God with lush, perfectly conditioned dark hair straight out of a Pantene Pro-V ad. He was sipping a foamy Chai Latté. I scanned the coffee shop, looking for cameras, in fear that I might be in an Anthropologie photo shoot. No such luck.
I never liked the song “12 Days of Christmas,” primarily because I have an innate fear of turtle doves, and also because one golden ring sounds nice, maybe two, but five? Excessive. Well, this dude had at least SEVEN rings arranged artfully on his fingers. Between his high school ring, college ring, grandfather’s sister’s cousin twice removed’s purity ring… I don’t know how the guy managed to even lift his hands, let alone have a job that involved typing.
Our date has lasted all of 30 seconds and I’m already a bit confused about why he’s on Tinder and not Grindr. I had my coffee now, though, so I had not a care in the world. We started in on the requisite small talk (what is a Tinder date if you don’t interject a comment about the weather to break an awkward silence?!) and this is when I learned that his favorite conversation topic is himself! I even started to keep a tally of the times he said “I” on the napkin in front of me. He didn’t notice because he was checking out his hair in the back of his spoon.
Dude was a Debbie Downer to the MAX. “I hate my job,” “I hate this state,” “I hate everything wonderful in the world, i.e. puppies and kittens and rainbows,” “I probably hate you.” When he finally got around to asking anything about me, I expressed my excitement about starting a job at a management consulting firm after graduation. Because I’m a positive person who LOVES small animals and rainbows, you weirdo.
Apparently, in addition to hating his job, he ALSO hated my company. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. He evidently dislikes the consultants who come in and tell him what to do. And by evidently, I mean he straight up ranted for 15 minutes about this topic. People were staring. I just smiled and counted the seconds until I could tell him I had an aromatherapist appointment and needed to go. The best part of his rant was the accompanying ostentatious hand gestures, and the way his rings glimmered in the dim fluorescent lighting of the coffee shop while he flapped them. It reminded me of turtle doves. SOS.
So there I was. Listening to #jaded insurance guy criticizing my future employer, peppering his rant with a variety of “OH EM GEE”s and “I CAN’T even’s!” I decided on the perfect escape – my stamp collection needed rearranging before show and tell that afternoon. Sorry, wish I could stay and keep cowering in fear from your anger!
“Insurance” walked me back to my car and went in for the kiss. Uh oh. This was not the way I wanted to die. I immediately reverted to my Girl Scout instincts and stopped, dropped, and rolled. I am quite skilled in evasion maneuvers, I know, all in a day’s work. I wished him goodnight and then reenacted a scene from “Fast and Furious” as I sped out of the lot.
So maybe he does go for girls, but he struck out with me.
Hope your Tinder catches fire, L