This past summer I spent three months freelancing in San Francisco. Since I was new to the city and didn’t know many people, I went on as many Tinder dates as possible. This was my first and arguably least successful one.
Nick* was a kind man. He was shorter than he said he would be but still taller than me. He showed up on time. He was soft-spoken. We shared an appreciation for comedies and comedians. He brought me to an overpriced bar that had an incredible view of San Francisco.
These were the only positive things about our date.
Nick had bad breath. I offered Nick a mint. He did not take it. I had to breathe through my mouth only. For hours.
Nick had yellow teeth. Not a little bit yellow but more like corn on the cob on a hot summer’s day. One tooth was encroaching upon brown territory.
Nick was flakey. Specifically, his skin. It was literally coming off in chunks. I have never seen a worse case of dandruff and/or eczema. It was everywhere. Sometimes, when Nick talked tiny bits of skin flew off. Maybe into his drink. Maybe into mine. I’m not sure and dear God, I’ve tried to block this out.
Nick loves cats. He loves cats so much that he has two and is considering getting a third. They’re named after comic book characters.
Nick loves comic-con. This actually doesn’t bother me at all. You do you Nick.
Nick is blind in one eye. You can’t tell at all which is cool and he wore a nice pair of trendy glasses. The glasses were fine – the giant smudges on both lenses were not.
Nick moved out of his mom’s house a couple months ago. Nick is 28.
Nick wore an ill-fitting, short-sleeved, button down shirt, tucked into khakis, tucked into combat boots. I don’t understand.
Nick didn’t check the hours for the bar we went to. Then he didn’t check the hours for the second bar we redirected ourselves to. Nick and I waited in a lobby for over an hour.
Nick and I will not be dating.
*Nick’s name was not really Nick. I’m not a monster.