Dud Date

I guess I would have written about it sooner—if I could have mustered up the enthusiasm. Let's call him Gavin, after my city's dear mayor (though the fact that they're both male and this guy's name began with a G is about all they have in common). He'd IM'd me one night when I was bored. I was initially put off by the fact that his profile picture showed him in a military uniform, but I decided to overlook that when I learned that he had joined the National Guard to become a translator and was interested in pursuing a career with the State Department (the latter of which has been a goal of mine from time to time).

Just as Superquail and *Ily posted in the comments however, I should have trusted my gut. When I told one of my co-workers about the date she compared him to the character from "American Pie" who always started stories with, "This one time, at band camp…" because this guy started everything with, "This one time, at basic training…" The date—dinner at a neighborhood Spanish restaurant and a shortish walk (which I quickly ended by getting on a bus to go home)—was one long string of stories about his time at basic training. If he wasn't talking about that, it was about high school and, if I was lucky, college. No matter what subject I introduced, he was able to turn it back to training within seconds. Perhaps he should be a recruiter instead of a translator.

Regardless, he didn't recruit me. So as not to spoil his Christmas, I waited until this morning to write and say that I wasn't interested. Sorry, Gavin, but you're not the one for me.