I frequented a couple of different dating websites about 10 years ago.I thought internet dating was the way to go. I just knew Mr. Right was out there, and we were just one JPEG away from finding each other.
On one website, I met a man who sounded interesting. He said he was in the security field, owned his own home, enjoyed movies, reading, etc. The photo showed a nice looking man with sandy hair and pretty eyes. After exchanging a few emails, I agreed to meet him for lunch near my office.
I'll refer to him here as "Sam" - for reasons that will become apparent in a moment.
I dressed for my lunch date with Sam very carefully, putting on makeup and fixing my hair in what I thought was an attractive way. [I always tried to look more Town & Country than Lady Gaga, if you know what I mean.]
I walked into the restaurant and took a seat in the waiting area. The door opened and a large cowboy hat with a tiny man underneath came charging through the door.
Yep, that was the guy.
I am 5'4, and I have always laughingly said I wanted a guy at least as tall as me. For most guys, that's not unreasonable. This little guy couldn't have been much over 5 feet tall. He had on elaborately decorated cowboy boots with a heel at least an inch high.
When he walked over to me, I was in a mild state of shock. Then he spoke, with a deep southern twang.
He was like something out of a cartoon. I almost giggled when he spoke.
As soon as we exchanged greetings, as we were walking to our table, I had the fleeting thought, "this will make a funny story one day. Not today, but hopefully one day..."
Except for the moustache, Yosemite Sam and my date were strikingly similar in looks...
I could probably have gotten over the height challenge and the twang, and even the silly outfit, but the personal history portion of our date scared the bejeezus out of me.
I can't remember what he said he did for a living. That detail is lost in my memory, but he probably worked from home. It didn't seem remarkable. Nope, it was his lifestyle that bothered me.
You see Sam owned his own home on top of a mountain.
He built his home completely by himself, teaching himself carpentry, electronics, and plumbing, etc. I admired that. But then, I heard a tale that sounded like the Unibomber...
There is only one road that leads to his home.
He described security measures that would've impressed the CIA.
He had designed and installed a series of cameras to survey every inch of his home and the outside areas.
He had automatic weapons, trained dogs, etc.
He only had to leave once a month or so to get supplies.
I remember asking him why he felt he had to take such elaborate precautions but I don't recall what he said. It was evasive, whatever it was. He didn't say something logical, like "I pissed off a Colombian drug cartel" or "I have photos of Michael Jackson without makeup."
He mentioned that he really didn't like his neighbors.He started telling me why, with a satanic gleam in his eye.
OK, well, that was enough for me. Hand me the check and a bottle of Maalox, thanks.
Before I left, I diplomatically mentioned that I was completely unwilling to entertain the idea of moving out of town, and a 90 minute commute just wouldn't work for me.
Sam hid his disappointment poorly.
Did I leave quickly? Let's just say I was glad I bought a car with a 6 cylinder engine instead of a 4 cylinder.
