the Russian…

This date is a firm favourite amongst friends and one of the more bizarre to date, though of course there is always scope for that to change (sadly).

I had breakfast with friends and told them that I had a date planned for that evening, but that I was tempted to cancel as I hadn’t spoken with the guy at great length and usually I like a good old chat in an attempt to suss out the levels of stranger danger.

I showed my friends his profile picture and one of them explodes with excitement

Anna, this guy was on my train home last night, I swear to god. Snappy dresser and the most incredible eyes, you HAVE to go”

SOLD.

We meet outside a local cocktail bar. Snappy dresser YEP. Incredible eyes YEP. Definitely worth finding out if there’s a little more to this guy.

Greeting is pleasant and we sit inside and peruse the menu, deciding which of the vast cocktail menu we would like to try first. In a chivalrous manner he asks for my selection and heads to the bar. Normal, this is normal. Normal and fine and perhaps even nice.

He heads back from the bar, no drinks in hand.

Russian – “I’M SORRY, I GOT ID’D”

Strange, I think, as this is a very tall, very bearded man in his 30’s, but it’s cool, these things happen.

Me – “No worries, there’s a lovely pub just up the road”

Russian – “OF COURSE I DID NOT GET ID’D, LOOK AT ME”

Dead pan as you like. So serious. Not an inkling of jest in his voice. Cool. Couple of minutes later the barman brings our drinks and I muster a laugh at what I’ve now worked out was a joke.

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So, a little on the backfoot, the date continues and we make small talk. He asks what I had been doing with my day and I answer all too honestly “breakfast with some friends, dull life admin and then I actually watched a documentary about capital punishment, y’know just to get me in the mood for a date”. Maybe I fucked up with the honesty (I was trying to be funny), but wow you sure do learn who your polar opposites are in life when they begin to discuss the many, many pro’s of capital punishment (the main pro being death).

We finish our first round of drinks, I reach into my bag and pull out a pouch of tobacco and some papers and begin to roll a cigarette. I’m aware this can be a turning point for some dates, but hey, I smoke.

Russian – “YOU SMOKE?”

Me – “Yeah I smoke. I take it you don’t?” said in the lightest tone I could muster.

Russian – “OF COURSE I DO NOT SMOKE, IT IS A DISGUSTING HABIT, YOU SHOULD NOT SMOKE” DEAD. PAN.

Me – “Yeah, what can I say? Must be addicted”

RUSSIAN PULLS OUT TOBACCO AND PAPERS FROM HIS POCKET

Russian – “OF COURSE I SMOKE”

I. DO. NOT. GET. THIS. JOKE. EITHER.

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Chit chat continues, the rum sinks in and we fumble our way through the evening. Then.

Russian – “I DO NOT LIKE JOKES’

Me – “What do you mean? How can you not like jokes”

Russian – “IT IS LIKE A QUIZ BUT I DO NOT KNOW THE ANSWER. IT IS NOT FUNNY”

 

Try as I might with all of my best cheese jokes, despite causing him to crack a smile he is adamant that he is adverse to jokes. Adamant.

The Russian. Big fan of the death penalty, not a fan of jokes.

 

 

 

we didn’t see each other again

 

 

 

 

 

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12 thoughts on “the Russian…

  1. Perhaps, as a very small child, he was traumatised by a particularly terrible joke that left him incapable of enjoying them. I reckon this would’ve cracked him though: Why shouldn’t you wear Russian underpants? Chernobyl fallout.

    Liked by 1 person

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