Not the A-Team. Not even the C-Team.

In many ways I’m an environmentalist. I hug trees, and I’d hug a harp seal to save it from clubbing, and wrote my law school thesis on the failures of Canadian fisheries policies that led to the collapse of Atlantic cod stocks. But I have my limits. Like I need a shower every morning. I’ll be dead before we run out of water. Heck, North Korea might nuke us in 6 months. So I don’t see the point in sacrificing my OCD need to be germ-free for future generations. I’ve done my part for the planet by not reproducing. So there. You owe me, future generation. There’s at least two less carbon footprints for you to fight over resources with. So you know what? I’m even taking the occasional sea salt bath (Out! Out! You negative toxins I absorb at work!) I’m not all that altruistic. Plus maybe in 20 years, Kevin Costner will be proven right and scientists will find a way to convert urine to drinking water. Cheers!

A few years ago, I went on another one of my scintillating online dates. He was from Seattle, and a former member of a grunge garage band. I have a fondness for flannel, and Eddie Vedder, so I gave it a shot. He had moved East to go to med school, which was an interesting career change. Or in hindsight perhaps a completely made up story. But the important detail here is that he drove cross-country—in a 1980 Mercedes he converted to biodiesel. While I support the idea of electric cars, I just couldn’t accept the idea of riding in a car that looked like it was from Cuba (shallow, yes/si!) and smelled like French fry grease. I may be shallow, but I am also always on a diet, and I’d be craving fried food every minute. This relationship could never work.

He wasn’t a bad guy; there just wasn’t any spark. This was reaffirmed when the check for our appetizers and drinks came, and he wanted to ask the server to make change for a $5 so we could split the bill precisely down to the last penny. You know what? I can afford it. You, on the other hand, need to buy and adult wallet and stop using the nylon and Velcro camouflage A-Team wallet you’ve had since grammar school. Or maybe you just found it in the glove compartment of your Castromobile. Either way, cheapness on a first date is a big red flag.

The clincher though, was while I was planning my escape, he wanted to continue the date. The first Whole Foods had just opened a minute down the road, and he suggested we go check it out. I desperately wanted to leave, but I was curious myself. One can never have enough organic coconut oil. We separately pulled into the parking lot and started to walk toward the store but it had closed 5 minutes earlier. He asked if I wanted to go somewhere else, but I fake yawned and said that it was a work night and I needed to get to bed.
Normally the end of online dates are really awkward. But this took the cake. Gluten free cake, probably, given our surroundings. He didn’t attempt a hug, or a kiss, or even a fist bump. He started walking backward toward his car like I just unveiled that I was wearing a suicide bomber vest. He just waved. No words. No “Let’s do this again.” Nothing. He just freaking waved. Then he got in his car and drove off, while I was standing in the nearly empty parking lot.

I was insulted for a moment, but relieved. Because I suddenly wanted to stop at McDonald’s and get some fries.

One thought on “Not the A-Team. Not even the C-Team.

  1. It’s my belief that all people who split bills to the cent are incapable of experiencing real joy in their lives, and end up keeping score in every aspect of their personal, family, and business relationships.

    Also to be expected from these mutants: Legendary back-handed compliments.


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