Ok, I've been told I've been morose (et tu brute?), so for fun, here is another installment of the Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom of Dating - also known as "Life on the Serengeti."
Banishing Snakes on St. Patrick's Day, 2010
Well, green is the color of the day and perhaps I'm too green to be dating again. A four-hour phone chat with "Chris" (perhaps his real name, perhaps not, I'm not protecting the innocent here as I don't think there are any!) and emails, then text messages, flying back and forth. We seem to click on a lot of levels - travel, work, sense of humor. Chris tries to convince me that I should meet him for a drink the next day, St. Patrick's Day. I don't want to - I don't "observe" St. Patty's Day - like NYE there are too many amateurs out there.
But he insists until I cave in. I should have spotted the slithering.
On St. Patty's Day Chris bombards me with text messages: He's leaving work early to hang out with his buddies, why don't I leave work early and meet him? I refuse, but don't see he has already coiled around my foot. He cajoles me: Why don't I cancel my long-awaited after-work hair appointment I have that night and meet him? I refuse, but don't notice he's got my leg now.
As I finish at the salon, we still haven't decided when/where to meet. I'm a bit frustrated as he has been nipping at me for days now on meeting but seems nonchalant at this point. As you know from the nature shows, the Boa Constrictor waits for its prey to exhale, then coils tighter . . . and he had me flustered – I breathed out.
Chris calls - "I'll just pick you up," he says authoritatively. "At your house."
(Voice of Marlin Perkins: "The Boa has moved upwards, and is slowly starting to constrict.")
So, Chris meets me at my house. He's a bit "friendly/touchy" - kissing me before we get out the door – snakes sense with their tongues, yes? And I make sure we get out the door. Apparently I've noticed there is something moving on me.
So, to the bars! As we walk up Woodward, there is a bagpiper playing and walking down the street. Yes, that’s Scottish, but “whatever!” it’s St. Patty’s Day! I drape the piper in one of the strands of beads Chrisss (oh, let’s just add the “sss” sound to his name now) and I are wearing.
As we start into Dino’s, Chrisss has my hand and leads me through the bar. I think it charming at the time, not realizing the Boa is moving upwards. We have a drink here, then leave for another watering hole.
At Danny’s, we chat with a young woman. She calls Chrisss my “boyfriend” – and Chrisss offers to buy shots, her choice. She goes with Patron. The Boa recoils a bit at this, he doesn’t like tequila. But it’s her choice so we down the shot. The woman invites us to another section of the bar as it is her birthday and she wants us to party with her and her pals. I’m game but Chrisss doesn’t want to go. (Marlin Perkins: “As we see, the Boa will isolate itself and its prey from other animals in able to complete the kill.”)
So, to the Post we go. I challenge Chrisss to pinball. And I am kicking his ass – this prey still has use of her arms. Chrisss gets behind me while I am playing. While his hugging (constricting?) is mildly distracting, the Boa decides on making a bold move . . . and shoves both his hands down my skirt.
The prey is suddenly alert! And screaming! I grab his hands and drag him out to the patio where I turn on the Boa and ask WTF? (Not to mention the lost pinball credits of course.) The Boa backs down, but not out. Apologetic, contrite, “I don’t know what got into me!” (umm, alcohol?), he suggests leaving and going to Comos. And the prey agrees. (Marlin: “The prey looks stunned at the rapid squeezing and release. Apparently, she is not able to get away.”)
At Comos, Chrisss goes for the gentle approach, cupping my face in his hands, complimenting and laying it on thick. (Marlin: “Having tried to swallow the prey from the feet up without success; the Boa is now starting with the head.”) And I am starting to be hypnotized by it. (I’m pretty toasted too.) It is around midnight, we are hungry, and Chrisss decides to take me to Greektown.
As we head to his white Hummer, I ask one question, “I’m serious about this, are you ok to drive?”
Enter the Zebras
He answers he’s fine so, off we go. As we zip across three lanes on 8 Mile, I get a bit apprehensive. And, I get more apprehensive when I spot a “zebra” – a black and white police car making a Michigan left. I ask, “is that cop car following us?” Affirmative.
The zebras pull Chrisss over. They ask if he is an active firefighter or “supporter.” He answers supporter. (Hmm, he told me active.) They ask how many drinks he’s had tonight – one, he answers. (I think: Dude, you are wearing three strands of beads on St. Patrick’s Day at midnight. One drink?)
The zebras ask for registration and insurance which Chrisss takes from the glove box (Hey! Whose pictures are on the packet there? Looks like a wife and two kids??)
The police go back to the cruiser. A brief moment later, they return. “Sir, please step out of the vehicle.” (Marlin: “The zebras have been sniffing around the Boa, knowing they are too big to be in any danger and the Boa cannot escape. However, the zebras know a snake is a snake and they have decided to stomp the Boa.”)
And the former prey is breathing on her own. An officer comes to my window. How many drinks have I had? “Oh, two or three, that’s why I’m not driving.” The zebra chuckles and says, “he’s had a lot. Any open alcohol in the vehicle?” I answer no, and then add, “wait, this is a first date. I have no clue what’s in here. Feel free to take a look.” (Marlin: "Interestingly, the prey has now joined the zebras against the Boa.”)
There’s nothing in the car and the officer tells me they will take me to the station in another cruiser so I can get a ride home. Yup, I’m ending my date in the back seat of a police cruiser.
At the small Ferndale station, I call a friend as all the taxi numbers are busy. I can hear Chrisss being booked in the back: $500 cash and he can get out at 6:15 am. He replies he has the money. ($500 cash on you? Really?) It is about 1:15 am now.
Then my cell rings. The Boa, caged, is pleading into my ear. “Where are you? Don’t leave me!” Chrisss intones. I’m tired and tell him, no I’m not waiting five hours until he is released. “Will you come and get me tomorrow at 6:15? I’ll have to go get my vehicle.” (Marlin: “The prey has stopped to look at the injured Boa. This can be a fatal error in the wild.”) Out of pity, I agree to pick him up so he can get his vehicle.
Bright and early, I’m at the station by 6:10 am, with Timmie’s coffee and breakfast sandwiches as I figure Chrisss hasn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. I sit, in the same chair as five hours before, and wait.
At 6:20, the desk officer asks if he can help me. I tell him I’m there to pick up a friend who was arrested and give him an approximate sound of Chrisss’s Greek last name. “No one here by that name. Are you sure you have the right station?” answers the officer.
A true snake in the grass –the Boa gave me the wrong name too.
I text and leave voice messages that I kept my promise to pick him up but he’s lied to me so he’s on his own. I figure he’ll slither away.
At 8:15 am, my cell rings. Chrisss is on his cell phone, crying. (Crocodile tears from a Boa Constrictor?) “Where are you.” he whines, “Why didn’t you pick me up?”
Now I’m annoyed. I tell him to stop crying and I explain: In short, I tried, he lied, and any favors have died.
The Boa tries to recapture the prey but is clumsy. “They won’t let me out,” he cries. “It’s $500 cash and I don’t have that much cash on me. Can you get $500 cash and come and get me?”
Pause. Blink. What?? Chrisss, with whom I’ve had one date, which ended in his DUI arrest, wants me to get $500 of my money to bail him out?
Time for some turnaround. “Chrisss,” I ask nicely, “do you have $500 in your ATM?” “Yes.” (Marlin: It is rare in the animal kingdom, but the Boa thinks he’s enticed the prey to return.”)
“Then why don’t you get your ATM card, give me your pin number, and I’ll go get the money for you and bring it to you?” The trap is set.
The Boa doesn’t spot the trap. “They won’t talk to me,” he replies.
“Oh,” I reply, “Then how did you get your cell phone to call and text me?”
The Boa realizes the spring door has shut: “Some lady brought it to me.” Clang.
I text him to never contact me again. Bye-bye Boa.
(Marlin: “The Boa Constrictor does not move quickly, but prefers to lie . . . in wait for its prey.”)
