I have a rule when it comes to online dating, I either need to go out with you immediately and know almost nothing about you (you know let the first date be real terrifying), or if you have chosen to play the long game – I am going to need to know everything, including your great grandmother’s medical history before I feel like I can say yes to a date. I need to have enough information about you to be sure I am not wasting my time and hard earned cash. Yes – I always offer to pay for my half, and I insist on paying my way for shitty dates, feel like it eliminates the need to ghost you later.
This story however falls under an exception, we were in a weird state of in between not knowing much about each other, however I knew enough to know that he currently lived with his parents – never again will I break my own rule. Tuck in folks, I honestly can’t make this shit up.
We are going to call this guy Ian – because thanks to this glorious website Ian would be the name of a man who “Plays World of Warcraft and drinks Monster energy drinks. Still.” While I think this title suits him now – at the time I was into Ian. I used to have a long list of boxes that you had to check before I ever considered going on a date with you, but 312 dates later and the criteria pretty much whittles down to: if you can punch back at my humour – I will straight up introduce you to my parents. Ian prided himself on his amazing sense of humour, and although he didn’t seem to catch a lot of my wit through text message I decided to give it a go.
As I mentioned Ian and I had probably been talking for just over a week – and it was one of those times where you move from dating app texting, to giving this guy your phone number way too quick. Talking for a week or so is what I like to call the “neutral zone” – I haven’t decided how I feel about you yet and typically would need to drag this out to be sure you’re not going to bore me in public. Ian on the other hand caught the feels really quick, and maybe I was flattered by how quick he was to text me “good morning” every day, or maybe it was his respectable use of Saved by the Bell gifs, or more likely I was full on intoxicated when I agreed to go on the date while we were still in the “neutral zone.”
After we settled on a date and location he proceeded to tell me how incredibly excited he was to meet me, which ladies – I know I am not alone in this feeling but I was a little turned off. Slow your role Ian you’re already shooting yourself in the foot. So in an attempt to ensure this guy didn’t show up with a ring, I not so subtly tried to explain to Ian with all of my experience in the online dating world that it’s truly better to go into these things with low expectations – better to come out pleasantly surprised if you ask me. Ian both did not catch the slight humour, but also was now incredibly terrified that I might be a man. Nonetheless the date happened.
As I’m parking outside the pub I get a text from Ian “I’m here, dressed like a homeless lumberjack” – great. Truthfully I probably read that, and was thought to myself “yes, this could be the man,” nope – definitely not the man. To be clear I am not here to judge appearances, but personal hygiene is always on the table. Picture an unshowered homeless man and slap some flannel on the guy and you have met Ian.
Ian met me with a hug, and before I could sit down he said: “So do you smoke?” Now while smoking is not necessarily a deal breaker, the urgency in which it seemed that Ian needed a cigarette was of concern.
Ian is a roofer – which after discussing with a few friends I found out that you should never* date a roofer, and after meeting Ian I would have to agree. First of all, Ian thinks he is really funny but probably couldn’t spell sarcasm if it slapped him in the face. So I literally had to explain just about every sentence after it came out of my mouth, which wasn’t boding well for Ian.
I learned a lot about the roofing profession and if you have ever had your roof done and it took longer than quoted, here’s why: “Yeah roofing, we work a long time without taking a break. Probably start at like 7am and go until 12 or 1 before we stop for lunch.” I empathized (prematurely), “then we go to lunch and order a shit ton of beer, drink a lot and decide if we’re going to go back to work.” – Ian. Then the beers came.
The first thing I noticed about Ian’s beer drinking habits, was that he doesn’t sip his beer. He takes anywhere from 1/4 to 1/3 of the thing back at a time, fitting based on how he spends his lunch hour(s). The man had 3 beers in the time it took me to finish one, and to be clear I am not an abnormally slow drinker. When beer number two came I noticed something that I wish I hadn’t. Ian was drinking the daily tap, which is usually poured fast and comes with a decent amount of head. Ian however, knew his way around a beer with some head on it. With his visibly unclean pointer finger Ian rubbed his nose from bridge to tip 3 or 4 times. When I noticed this, I swear everything slowed down as if it were right out of a movie when I immediately knew where I had seen this before; beer number one and I knew where this was going. Ian then took his newly lubed up pointer finger and dunked it into his beer and gave it a few heavy swirls to eliminate the entirely drinkable foam. I then was tasked with the important job of ensuring puke did not make an appearance at the table. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions on who was ready to vom.
I could not tell you anything else Ian said for the rest of the night as all I could focus on was the glare on his nose, the dirt under his fingernails, and his pint of beer. However when the server came back around to check on our drinks and Ian didn’t hesitate in getting a third pint (shocker), I ordered another one even though I was barely half way through my first. It was then that I decided that tonight was a night where it was going to be a slow to reach for the bill and while I was at it, I might as well make him pay for at least two drinks – felt like a fair trade for all of my suffering.
Sure enough when I saw the amount of head on Ian’s third pint I excused myself to the washroom.
Finally the date came to a close and Ian graciously picked up the entire tab without hesitation and insisted on walking me to my car, dart in hand. He then did the awkward dance of “Sooooo, what now?” which of course I understood that he wanted to know if we were going to hang out again, however the fact that he was way more comfortable asking about my smoking habits 14 seconds into the date than he was asking me out again, pushed me to make Ian sweat this one out.
“What do you mean what now?” I said.
Ian smiled and laughed, and just repeated himself “what now?”
No thank you Ian. Happy roofing.
*dear roofers, sorry but Ian has ruined the chance for you to disprove this theory.
50,000 First Dates 