The Worst Date of my Life

June 17, 2014

Have you ever been on a date that was so bad that nobody would believe it?

Well, rewind to June of 2014.

The thing with online dating is…people can present any image they want to the so-called dating pool. And the problem is that their perception of what constitutes “a total catch” and mine – may have expansive perceptive differences.

Take Steve for example. For all intents and purposes, he seemed like a nice enough guy. He was really cute, had a nice body, a full set of teeth, and worked for a sawmill in another town. After texting with him for about a week, and talking for a few hours on the phone, he invited me down to Salmon Arm – which is a smallish town in British Columbia located about an hour and twenty-minute drive east of Kamloops on Highway 1 - to meet him and go for lunch. I love road trips and since that drive is gorgeous this time of year, I didn’t mind the plan at all and headed out for what I didn’t know would become a firm contender for the 'Worst Date Ever Award'.

If you haven't been there yet, British Columbia is one of the most scenic places in the world. The highway winds along emerald, green rivers and overlooks expansive sparkling lakes and lush, green forests. From the rolling hoodoos of Kamloops to the picturesque green fields dotted with grazing cattle and llama farms as you get closer to Sorrento and Salmon Arm - it’s a truly beautiful drive. I had my tunes cranked up and was in a happy, carefree mood when I arrived at my destination.

Sticking to the plan, I called Steve when I got through town, and he gave me directions to his house. Go left at the lights at the top of the hill and it’s the eighth house on your right.

Easy enough to find, I thought.

Pulling into the gravel driveway, I surveyed the yard. Steve’s place was your usual ‘BC build” style, two-level single-family home desperately in need of a fresh coat of paint. I grabbed my purse, got out of my Dodge Nitro and started walking up the front steps towards the main door.

Ding Dong.

I heard footsteps approaching and Steve opened the door. We both smiled and he moved to the side, gesturing for me to come in.

“Babe,” he said, “how was the drive?”

“It was good, “I answered. “Beautiful.”

“Yeah, I love that drive,” he said, “when I can afford the gas.”

“Oh?” I suddenly went on high alert. “Didn’t you say you worked at the Mill?”

“Yeah, I do,” he confirmed, “But, I have a ton of child support to pay. I’m on a budget, babe.”

“Ahhh, right,” I nodded.

But, in my defense a lot of single guys were in a financial pinch these days because they were newly separated, and their wives had gotten the house and the division of property hadn’t been settled out on. I get it. And, I had my own job and didn’t really expect Steve to pay my way or anything.

Okay…I just didn’t think it through.

“So, this is your place?” I asked glancing around. It was a total bachelor pad with no sign of any feminine touches. I sat down carefully on a ratty, brown couch that had seen better days and noticed the faded 80’s wallpaper and big, boxy TV blaring away in the corner. There was brown shag carpeting from the 80's on the floor.

“It’s super nice.”

“No, it’s my buddy’s. I’m staying on his couch.”

“Ah hah, “I said, starting to feel like Steve hadn’t been entirely forthcoming about his general life situation, but it was too late for me to back out now. Suddenly I desperately needed alcohol.

“So, did you want to go somewhere for a beer?” I asked, hopeful.

“The cold beer and wine store is just up the road,” Steve answered, “so, let’s go get a 6-pack and come back here. I’m on a budget, babe.”

So, I drove to the beer store and followed Steve in. I wondered to the back cooler and grabbed my usual 6-pack of Molson Canadian cans.

“Do you want me to pay half?” Steve asked when I got up to the front counter.

Surprised, I took out my wallet and shook my head no. “No, it’s cool. I got it.”

“Great!” he beamed. “Then I’ll be able to get me a couple cans of Caesars!”

Back at “Chez Steve’s Friend,” I cracked open a beer and started trying to think of excuses to get out of there. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a huge, overweight, white tom cat which was preparing to jump down off the crowded kitchen counter. It plopped down, landed with a resounding THUD and started making it's way over to me, belly swaying.

When it was halfway across the living room the smell hit me. It was strong enough that I nearly gagged. Upon closer inspection, I could see that the cat’s hind end was covered in dried, matted cat poop. And, not just a little nugget either. The whole back end of the cat was a pungent mess.

The smell was revolting.

“Oh my God your cat stinks!” I said with alarm. One thing I know about cats – they do not like anything sticking to them, especially poop. “Why is the cat covered in shit?”

“Don’t be mean,” Steve whined. “He got hit by a car a few years back and can’t lift his hind leg up to clean himself. So, I haveta shave his ass with my face clippers. His name is Lucky.”

This information rendered me virtually speechless, and I admit that by now I was chugging back my second can of beer and heading to number three.

“Hey Babe," Steve said, “do you want the grand tour?”

“Can’t wait,” I said, with false cheerfulness. What could be better than this?

Standing, I followed him down a long, dim hallway. It was the standard layout with a main bathroom on the right, a spare bedroom at the end of the hall on the right and another bedroom to the left. The latter was Steve’s.

“This is where the magic happens, babe,” he said wiggling an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’ll just bet it does.” I answered.

And, what happened next is what placed Steve as the leading contender for the “Worst Date Ever” Awards.

He entered his sparsely furnished room, got down on his hands and knees and began to reach way under the dingy Queen-sized bed while I remained behind in the doorway. With a grunt, Steve emerged, and from under the bed, pulled out a three-foot long, mongo horse dildo that was covered in Lucky’s ass hair.

Spinning around to face me, Steve raised the cat-hair covered dildo triumphantly above his head, waving it like Excalibur and said, “Meet George!”

With a blend of shock and horror, all I could say was, “Umm…. where’s the Ladies room?”

Then I turned and fled.

I ran down the hall, rounded the corner, scooped up my purse with one hand and took the stairs three at a time. When I hit the landing, I kicked into my sneakers, wrenched open the front door and raced down the concrete stairs two at a time.

Reaching my Nitro, I vaulted over my hood into a hip slide that would have impressed Luke Duke and got behind the wheel, slamming the gear shift into reverse. The last thing I heard before I peeled rubber out of the driveway - spraying gravel in every direction - was Steve’s voice.

“What? Babe WAIT! I can wash it!”

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What did I learn?

1. Red flags are not a carnival.

2. Get to know someone before you go to their house.

3. Avoid men who can not afford beer.

4. Avoid men that suddenly present you with cat hair covered mongo dildos.

5. Do not touch any man's face clippers for hygienic reasons.