The Farmer

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

The first in a collection of short stories regarding my never ending conquests in internet (and sometimes old fashioned) dating.

Submitted: August 14, 2018

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Submitted: August 14, 2018



I met "The Farmer" on Tinder.  As a “self-respecting adult” I can’t say I ever took Tinder too seriously.  I’d rip my one hitter befor  bed and get to the mindless, ultra-pathetic swiping of every single male human in my chosen proximity.  If you’ve ever had this application, and a shred of self-worth, you will probably agree that it only takes two minutes to convince you that living your life as the “cool aunt” and dying alone is without a doubt the best life for you.

It the middle of one of the best summers of my life, I stumbled across the Farmer's profile. All I can say is, it spoke to me. Not only was he an actual, real life, attractive male human, but his profile was littered with bright colors, fresh produce, and weed.  As an artisitcally minded, weed smoking vegan - I took one look at his instagram and said to myself "Oh yes. He will be mine".

There's always this awkward introductory period after you match where you have to get a good vibe on the other person.  These guys could be smoking hot, but if your're not textually compatable, your online fling is dead on arrival. Thankfully, after graduating from in-app conversation to text message it appeared The Farmer was very well spoken, smart and interesting.  For a solid week, I really thought I had somehow hit the mother-effing Tinder jackpot.

As a first date The Farmer asked me to go to a concert in town.  We had a similar taste in music and a band we both love happened to be playing that Saturday.  I was a little nervous because a concert seemed a bit overwhelming for a first date.  The idea of being locked into an entire evening with a stranger scares me, as I prefer napping on my couch with no person at all.

Throughout the day he was asking me what I wanted him to bring me from his farm, while sending me pictures of exotic fruit I had never heard of.  I was thrilled. Then, the fruit selfies trickled off as he began sending me pictures of himself drinking beer while getting ready. “Okay.” I said to myself “This kid likes to get loose. No big deal”

I gave him the run down on how to get to my place, where to park, and met him downstairs when he got there so that I might help him carry this alleged bounty of fruits and vegetables. The following is a detailed account of what transpired once he arrived:

Minute 1 - I approached his car from behind and watched him kick the door open. He stumbled out of the driver’s side holding a road soda and a joint.  He looked, disheveled (to say the least), and clearly had no intentions of trying to impress me.  This was obviously off putting as his Instagram had given me such high hopes.  I helped him gather his gift box of produce, while he shoved his back up beers and a carton of weed in with it.  Casual first date stuff.

Minute 2 – As we’re walking into the lobby of my building he makes a comment to my African American door man in reference to the temperature outside being as hot as “the cotton pickin’ fields”. Now for the record, I’m paraphrasing, because in that exact moment my body began to try and shut itself down in order to deal with the shock of what had just happened.  

Minute 4 – I've gotten this loose cannon into my apartment and he immediately kicked open my bathroom door and pees with it open - all while never putting his beer down.

Minute 10 – We were off on foot.  To say that I was fearful of what could happen next is an understatement. We were in my town. I have friends around, and I’m about to start walking the streets with a drunk and high person who may or may not have Tourette’s. 

Minute 20 – We successfully made it to the concert venue without any mortifying encounters.  As we got in line I felt a shred of relief. One step closer to being in a room with loud music, inhibiting his ability to embarrass me with more racist remarks.

Minute 22 – Two girls were quietly trying to sell their extra ticket on line. Quietly, because scalping tickets is illegal, obviously.  The Farmers response?  To scream at the top of his lungs to the line of people spanning the block that these chicks had an extra ticket to sell, repeatedly.  Feelings of relief vanished.

Minute 35 – We're at the front of the line making small talk while my body is still visibly trying to shut itself down.  He caught on to how tense and nervous I was, but instead of trying to calm it down, he abrublty quit a story half way though to inform me of my status as an  “Energy Vampire”.  I had never even heard the term "Energy Vampire" before,but holy shit was I offended.  I have GREAT fucking energy when not faced with some out of control, farming lunatic!

Minute 95: Luckily I was able to indulge in a few beers before the show’s start and felt myself loosen up. We sat at a couple of bar stools and just talked, quietly. I’m not going to say sparks were flying (especially because I caught on to the fact that his ex gf was still the background on his phone, barf) but once he, and my nerves both calmed down it wasn’t so bad.  We started vibing enough to enjoy a concert together, at least.

Minute 155:  Half way through the show I was having a pretty great time.  This kid was at least fun (when in a room where music drowns his voice out).  It wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be, and I was obviously enjoying the tunes of one of my favorite bands.  Two young girls in front of us lit up a joint and offered us a hit. I declined, he did not. Old people around started revolting.  Some loser of a woman made her husband tell the girls to put it out.  Cue The Farmer sparking a conversation with this set ofyoung girls. I just stood back and watched.  No big deal, really, until he sleazily took out his business card and gave it to one of them. Your business card? Really, Bro? What, was she really into the idea of driving an hour away to buy some corn?

Minute 200: Back out in the wild.  I was on high alert again, but after some drinks my coping skills were much greater than before.  We grabbed some food on the boardwalk and after some chit chat about past relationships I found myseld trying to convince this asshole that I was in fact not an “Energy Vampire”.  I was attributing my intense reaction to his personality as P.T.S.D. acquired from dating a psychopath for so long.  Clearly I had already forgotten about what he said to my doorman, or I would have simply attributed my vibe to that.

Minute 230: On the walk back to my apartment he talked shit to every person he set his eyes on.  I can’t say I ever thought I’d be associated with the guy screaming “MAKE OUT! MAKE OUT!” to every single couple on the street, but there I was, living with the repercussions of my poor, internet dating choices.  Luckily, I was on the verge of peeing my pants, so the light jog I did in front of him didn’t catch me any flack.

Minute 245: I raced up to my apartment and into the bathroom to commence one of those lifesaving, “Best Pee Ever” pees.  Within 15 seconds of being alone with the door shut, The Farmer kicked the door open with a baby watermelon in one hand, and a kitchen knife in the other. He proceeded to straight up samurai sword that thing in half over my urinating body, just like those live active versions of “Fruit Ninja”, but with real fruit, in my bathroom.

Watermelon and juice went flying everywhere.  This certinely was not a tidy, well thought out idea, but obviously that’s just how this maniac lives his life - fucking, shit, up.  He picked up a piece of watermelon that hit the bathroom floor and shoved it into my mouth to prove how luscious and ripe it is before walking back out.  Point proven.

I wipe, pick up my pants, and thank the sweet lord that I don’t ever have to be seen in public with this kid again.

Minute 275:  I smoked the weed he brought. Clearly, I had a new outlook on everything.  He was playing his guitar and freestyling a song about the absurd night we just spent together. “Could he be any cooler?” is a thought I’m sure I had over and over, because I know me, and I’m a fucking idiot.

Minute 305:  After drinking a beer on the patio I was giggling on the way back into my dark apartment while telling him a story.  He was clearly uninterested in my high rambling, as he took the opportunity walking back in to pull me close, and pin me up against a window ledge to commence making out.  All of the tension of the evening vanished as this complete and utter lunatic proved to be the most intense sex-er I had ever had the pleasure of sexing before.  I mean really, it was good. I even let him sleep over.

He told me on the way to bed that the lack of furniture in my bedroom made me look like a psychopath.

The next day I considered the entire thing a wash.  Yes, the sex was good, but I could never take this kid home to my mother. One false move and he'd tell her to fuck herself. I convinced myself that we could causally make out at best, and decided to put no more time or thought into this kid.

It's been exactly 2 years since my first date with The Farmer.  We dated on an off for 1.5 of those- hah.

Since your new girlfriend made you block me - Hey Dan, Miss you!

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