Dead Fish S&M Bumpkin

This past Friday, I had the unfortunate displeasure of having a POF date. In full disclosure, I brought it upon myself. I saw this guy online and thought he looked like a normal man. Here's a quick snapshot of his profile: 

There was one photo where I could kind of see his face. He looked kind of cute, and in person, he actually was kind of cute. But let me tell you something - this date was a disaster. This man off Plenty of Fish was a dead fish. A masters degree, a machinist (again, in full disclosure, I had no idea what that meant - maybe an engineer?), and tall!

We exchanged messages on POF, phone numbers, text messages, and had a real conversation on the phone. The phone conversation left me feeling as though we had somewhat decent chemistry. It was a little awkward, but I thought, "Eh, he might be okay." He asked me out for drinks at a local restaurant that specializes in Southern cuisine.

After 5 o'clock rang at work, I went to the bar. I spruced my makeup up, I was wearing a nice outfit, and I was ready to break the spell of bad dates. He texted me, saying he had an outside table. Rather than breaking the spell, I was cursed by another hocus pocus.

As I walked up, my eyes perused the outside tables for what I thought was my next big relationship. He was worse than Tinder in Miniature - he was Dead Fish. When he saw me, he got up, walked over to me, and he almost body-bumped me while simultaneously giving me a hug. It was bizarre. He greeted me with a slight southern drawl. I observed his manner of dress for this first date and made my quick judgments. He was dressed as any bumpkin might be dressed - green shorts, a black t-shirt, a black ball cap. dark-rimmed glasses, and black sandals - the kind you spot unfashionable tourists wearing at the beach. I was appalled.

We sat down and began to chat. The waitress had already given us ice water, but no offer of alcohol. I was really looking forward to a good beer, and I was not amused at being robbed of my beer. He hadn't ordered any beer, either, and I didn't want to appear like an alcoholic. But dude, it was Friday and I had a shitty day at work. Come on!

He was slow in his words, quick in his thought, and difficult to carry on a conversation. He was different from the phone. This guy didn't seem cool and dynamic at all. He was a Dead Fish! A Dead Fish is a special term I ascribe to one who is difficult to speak with. Conversation with him was like pulling teeth. However, the conversation perked up, but for a damning turn.

Earlier in the day, I showed a friend from work the Dead Fish's profile. As we reviewed his summary, something popped out to me that I didn't remember from when I first reached out to him. He said he was not "vanilla" in the bedroom. In fact, he cautioned the reader that he was one who thought bites, bumps, and bruises in the bedroom were natural and necessary.

If you remember my post about S&M, people who use the term "vanilla" are those who belong to S&M circles and are referring to conventional sex. Seeing this term in his profile raised alarms in my mind. Had I stumbled across someone who wants to bite my tits off?

"So I need to ask you about something I saw in your profile today that I hadn't seen before."
He smiled. The bastard added the vanilla thing recently. "Sure, go ahead."
"I saw that you use the term vanilla in your profile. Normally, people who use the term vanilla in their profiles subscribe to S&M circles. Are you one of those people?"
"Well, yes and no. I mean, I like biting. If someone is into bondage, I'll get into it, but I don't keep a supply of chains."

I was already getting turned off. The next few things he said and did definitely shut down any electricity I had left. He asked me more about my profession. When I told him I was a lawyer, he chuckled and said, "Oh I've needed one or two in my lifetime!" When I asked him what he meant, he told me that he had been arrested for felony fleeing and eluding law enforcement. He got into a high speed chase with a state trooper when he was 31 years old - a mere two years ago. I asked him why he did it. His response: "I just wanted to see if they'd chase me. I thought it'd be fun. It was harmless - nobody else was around."

I was dumbfounded. This man got arrested for a felony and got into a high speed chase just for kicks? The masters degree seemed like a complete lie because surely someone who engaged in this type of behavior would not have the smarts to also obtain a masters degree. I asked him what happened to the criminal case. He said he got a break on it and ultimately didn't become a convicted felon. In my mind, he was a convicted felon.

The only good part about this disaster date was the food. I was eating a delicious crawfish po' boy with sweet potato fries. It was marvelous, even though I didn't have a beer to wash it down with. At the end of the meal, the waitress delivered the bill, as all waitresses do across America at the end of thousands of meals every day. He took the bill in his hands, furrowed his eyebrows, and looked up at me.

"Do you have any cash on you, like a ten?"
I looked at him, thinking to myself that after the disaster this date had been, he wasn't seriously going to ask me, the female half, for cash.
"No. I don't have cash." I wasn't going to offer to pay any portion with my card, either. I'm a traditionalist, and for the wasted hour of my life I spent with this moron on my Friday night, he could at least pay for my meal.
"Hm, okay." He reached into his wallet, plopped down a card, and after a painful ten minutes of waiting, the waitress came and picked up his card with the bill. After an additional five painful minutes, she returned his card.

I thanked him for the dinner and wished him well. I jumped into my car and drove straight home. Lucky for me, I had one of my favorite beers in the fridge. I popped the cap off and indulged in the bubbly flavors of a Sam Adams Cherry Wheat.

I reviewed my awful date with the Dead Fish S&M Bumpkin. I closed my eyes as I took another sip of my beer. The beer was my comfort. To my surprise, I realized that a cold beer was all I really wanted for a Friday night. I then started to recount the collection of terrible dates I'd had, coupled with the tragedy of my last relationship.

I then realized this single truth: It's a blessing to be single when I'm surrounded by fools.