My story begins three years ago. I was a freshly out of a long-term relation-suck and I was not-so-eager to get on the proverbial dating horse. I’d been going to college for a year or so, but I’d not met anyone I was hugely attracted to, nor anyone who seemed hugely attracted to me.
I wasn’t going to bars, and I wasn’t involved with anything that’d promote meeting someone. And even though my heart was bruised and my pride wounded, I wanted to meet someone. Someone kind, considerate. Someone who liked theatre and camping. Someone who wasn’t my ex.
So I did the thing I had sworn I’d never do. I created a profile on a dating site. Not just one site, either, but a couple. I wanted to keep my options open and give myself the greatest opportunity to meet the love of my life.
Okay, so maybe not the love of my life, but at least someone who wasn’t a jerk. One of the sites I joined seemed like a really happening place. It has quizzes and questions, journals and awards — it also had plenty of creepers.
We all know what a creeper is. Those people who are creepy, gross, creepy, dirty, gives-you-the-chills and make you want to grab your cell and dial 911.
I, being the person I am, tend to believe there is good in everyone and that everyone has the capacity to be kind, caring, compassionate and wonderful in their own way. I definitely lack creeper radar.
Which brings me to Corbin*. I met Corbin just days before actually agreeing to meet him in person. Normally, I’d wait longer but desperation told me to go for it.
I wish it would have screamed “Danger, Will Robinson!”
I should have seen what was about to happen when he kept coyly insisting that I wear a white sundress. I don’t own a white sundress, and I told him as much. But he kept insisting. It seemed like the most important thing in the world to him, so important I got the feeling he had a fetish.
I didn’t wear a white sundress.
We agreed to meet in downtown Ann Arbor at Starbucks. I parked in one of my usual parking structures and made my way down the crowded street. I’m a playful person, so I cleverly texted him the word “marco.” He wasn’t having it. He immediately called me.
“Where are you?” he asked in a harsh voice that sounded as if he was somewhat angry.
“I’m coming down the road. Are you at Starbucks?” I was nervous, admittedly. I mean, I wasn’t wearing a white sundress.
“I see you. I’m coming for you.” Again, if that tiny voice had only screamed “Danger,” I might have run.
It wasn’t long before I spotted the figure of a man, my soon-to-be date, making his way across the street from Starbucks toward me.
The hour or so I had painstakingly taken carefully choosing an outfit — a long brown and white skirt, tan long-sleeved shirt and black shrug — seemed pointless next to his. The tennis shoes were old, worn and looked like they might have been run over by a cement truck, twice.
His socks were calf-high and dinged a dirty white. The above-knee-length cutoff-jean shorts were a perfect pairing to his purple and cerulean paisley t-shirt. But the icing, the crème-de-la-crap, was the poof of unbrushed hair framing his unshaven face.
I don’t judge much. But this was a first date. Despite the obvious fashion victim role he seemed to be embracing, he had a certain cuteness to him.
“You didn’t wear a white sundress,” he said. “Why not?!”
I should have run. I should have high-tailed it out of there before it could become a greater disaster, but I didn’t. I told him, again, I didn’t have a white sundress. He was not pleased.
We headed to Starbucks, where, for the next three hours, we sat not drinking coffee because we sat outside; he didn’t want to go inside, and I horrifyingly listened to him tell me inappropriate stories about girls he dated all while reassuring me he wouldn’t do that to me.
After three hours I was done. I was clearly never going to speak to this guy ever again and I just wanted to go home and shower. I stood, and he stood and the next words out of his mouth were even more shocking than his sundress insistence.
“Let’s go for a walk down by the rail road tracks. I swear I won’t hurt you, I just want to have some fun.”
I quickly made my way to an adjacent the bookstore. He followed me. I went to a nearby ice cream shop. He followed me. Eventually, I disappeared into the busy crowd and high tailed it to the parking structure where I made my getaway.
Soon after, he texted me “Where are you?”
I never responded.
*name NOT changed to protect the girls who might date him.
