Officially fed up with feeling sorry for myself, I broke down on Monday night and downloaded the Tinder app on my phone. Tinder is a dating app that’s linked to Facebook; it presents a few photos, interests, and mutual friends from the site. The concept is easy: judge people’s photos…Nope or Love. Swipe, X, swipe, X, swipe, <3. Two hearts equals the honor of being able to chat with one another if you both so choose. 

 

One such mutual “love” was with what turned out to be a 26 year old Puerto Rican military guy. We chatted on Tinder, exchanged phone numbers after an appropriate amount of commonalities, proceeded to text, then talk on the phone. We agreed to meet over drinks after work. In true “Ashley always has great first date stories!”, boy do I have another interesting tale!

 

Right off the bat, in rapid-style, he gives me a 15-question inquisition about my job, my family, my hobbies. Tired from all the answering, lightning fire, I throw the question: What do you do for a living? at him. After a few moments of silence, he answers that he’s trying to think of a way to not scare me. Mafia? Mob? Hit man? I guess. 

 

I probe a bit further, “Can you tell me in like a summary? Just a few words?” 

 

“I’m thinking!” he yelps. 

 

More silence. Then more yelling, “I don’t want to tell you too much. I don’t know you! Why would I share personal information with someone I just met?!” 

 

“Um…because we’re on a first date and that’s what you do…share information about ourselves. But, you know, whatever, tell me what you want.”

 

“Fine,” he answers. “If you ever did anything bad, you wouldn’t want to see me…” 

 

In my head only, of course, I guess, “Dog the Bounty Hunter!!”

 

He loosens up and, for the most part, we have an enjoyable conversation. It was fun enough to agree to a second meeting. Maybe he was just nervous at the get-go?? 

 

Then…all hell breaks loose. All smiles, I say, “It’s a good thing I told you to be open at the beginning; we’ve had fun!” More silence. I’ve learned what that means by now…

 

“Who do you think I was for the last hour? Do you think I was faking it?! I’m genuine! How rude of you to think differently!!!” He’s yelling. I’m cowering, highly embarrassed because we’re in public and I don’t know this (throw in your own expletives here). 

 

I explain that he’s making me uncomfortable and pull date #2 off the table. More yelling. More uncomfortableness. The god-sent bill finally arrives. He tells me to give him a card to pay half. I happily oblige. Get me the hell outta here. There’s no talking during bill time. Then he looks up (seriously, this was the best part of the whole night…) and says…”What’s your favorite animal???” 

 

“Uh, um, I don’t understand…”

 

He bellows, “I’m just trying to change the subject!” 

 

When we’re finally at the train station, he juts out his hand for a shake, then tells me to let him know when I get home. Before I can run away down the stairs, he exclaims, “Military police…”

 

Golly, I really do love my dating life. 

 

And, yes, I did let someone know where I was before this date. Safety first!