Farmers’ Market Boy
For months I’d been having short conversations with this cute guy who worked at my local farmers’ market. He seemed free-spirited and kind. After many chats, we finally set up a date at a local coffee shop.
He was on time, which was great. He biked to the café and was quite sweaty. I couldn’t tell if his long hair was damp from sweat or the shower. Though he asked me out, he didn’t buy my latte and soup, which was not a big deal. Within minutes of sitting down, he told me about his life partner, J.
“Not to worry, we’re in an open relationship,” he said.
Apparently, both of them are free to date or “fool around” as long as they are honest with each other. J is also 15 years older than this dude (my supposed date), so that would make her about 45. And they live together in what he described as a “cave.”
Despite knowing this was almost certainly not going to work out, I decided to be polite and get to know the guy. He talked non-stop for two hours before asking me anything about myself. His stories consisted of him getting fired from a job canvassing for a conservation group and being let go from other low-paying jobs, him dropping out of college, his multiple conspiracy theories about President Obama and his thoughts on the government killing JFK. He also went into some detail about his past and current drug habits, including meth use. He was shocked that I’d never done any hard drugs and questioned why I’d never sampled coke or heroin.
After his relentless monologue, he finally turned his attention to me. In particular, he asked why I didn’t have any stories to tell him and made a comment about me not holding up my side of the conversation. Toward the end of the three-hour event, he noted that I could be charming when I wasn’t being shy.
Oh, and he sang to me. He sang to me from the musical he is writing. He then recited three of his poems to me, the first was about masturbation. He also mentioned several times how attractive he is to women and that he thinks that has cost him at least one job. He apparently didn’t understand why more women at the market didn’t just give him their numbers.
At several points in the conversation, I was convinced I was on candid camera or being punked, that someone was watching to see what bizarre situation would cause me to flip. At the end of the night, he biked off and I hightailed it out of there.
