Chad’s Chickens

6 Sep

“You’re a hard girl to pin down” my blind date for the evening mumbled as he led me, with the gait of a geriatric serial killer, to a tiny table in the back.  The bar was pitch black, but his white bald spot lit my way like a torch through a great forest.

“Chad” was referring to the fact that he had tried to get me to meet him at this bar every night at around 11pm for the past week.  Since 11pm is a little late for me to be making plans for the night, I had already been out with someone else or was staying in each time.  Even after I told him no, he would keep urging me to “just come over.”  This not only struck me as highly unattractive (basically begging me to come to his apartment when we hadn’t even met) but totally creepy.  After the third or fourth time suggesting the same bar, I asked what was the deal was with that bar.  He responded “It is close to my home and they let me bring my dog.”  Apparently he brought his large German Shepherd mix on all of his blind dates.

These factors combined would normally have been more than enough to convince me not to go on a date with this person.  However, I gave him a chance A) because he was from Wisconsin and B) because HE OWNED CHICKENS.  Under “My Self Summary” he wrote that he is a litigation lawyer who does woodworking in his free time and lives with a dog and five chickens.  As badly as I wanted to see these chickens in person, I simply will not risk getting murdered by going to a stranger’s apartment.  I’ve seen every “Law and Order SVU” episode ten times… I’m no fool.  So I settled for meeting Chad at his favorite bar instead of getting killed and having my chopped up body parts stuffed under his chicken coop.

Of course he made me come out to a bar that’s only convenient for him I had grumbled to myself on the way over, getting lightly soaked by the rain.  It always happens to be raining when guys choose a locale that is completely out of my way.  I walked seven or eight blocks from the train, finally locating the bar between some sketchy bodegas.  Chad arrived ten minutes after we had agreed to meet, even though I knew he lived just up the street.  “Sorry I’m late,” he said without making eye contact,  “I was eating garlic scapes from my CSA and lost track of time.”

Once we were seated at the tiny table in the darkest corner of the bar, his dog wandered over to me to say hello.  The dog was cute, Chad was not.  He was fairly short, balding, bearded, had on a faded t-shirt, and a questionable smirk.  One of the first things he shared with me was that he thought his dog had fleas because he kept scratching his butt.  He then pulled a clump of fur off the dog’s rear, set it in the middle of the table, and began dissecting it like an owl pellet.

I wasn’t even halfway done with the PBR he had bought me when he said “how about we get out of here and you walk me home?”  Was he joking?  We had been at the bar less than twenty minutes.  Not to mention he lived down the street and I had a thirty minute walk ahead of me.  I told him I’d at least like to finish my drink.  He rolled his eyes and said “Ok, I wasn’t trying to suggest you abandon your beer or anything…”  Not ten seconds later, he got up, grabbed his dog’s leash and said “Just leave your beer, let’s go.”  This guy was officially the worst.  He had shown up late, bought me a beer he didn’t even let me drink, then ordered me to accompany him back to his apartment– as if that’s how the whole “date” thing works.  I sighed and set my half-full can down on the table.  Once out the door, I announced I was going home.  He told me his street was on the way.  Unfamiliar with the area, it took me a few blocks to realize that he had lied and I was going the wrong way.  I called him out on his lie and he laughed and said “Now you have to come over.  I’ll let you drink my special cider and meet my chickens.”  I was way past the point of being lured by fowls.  I told him my answer was no and stormed off, barely even saying goodbye.  Naturally, it started to rain again as I backtracked in the direction from whence I came.  Irritated and soaked, I ducked back into the same bar we had just left and ordered another beer to wait out the rain.  I actually really liked the bar.  There was a DJ playing good music, it was dark, and there were several attractive guys there.

I always feel a bond with fellow Wisconsinites.  However, my experience with people from Wisconsin that I’ve met in New York has been less than reassuring.  Much like The Lying Lumberjack, Chad enjoyed building things with wood and dressing like he was out on parole.  Both seemed to be totally self-involved and inflexible.  I told my mom about Chad’s chickens before I went out with him and she said “Well he is obviously ahead of the curve.  It’s VERY trendy to own chickens.”

Sometimes I do miss Wisconsin.

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5 Responses to “Chad’s Chickens”

  1. iammick September 6, 2012 at 8:02 pm #

    It’s funny when you meet people from your home state that have moved to another state. A lot of people change and are not how you picture or know your fellow home stater, if that makes sense.

    I’m originally from the east coast and now I’m on the west coast. I meet east coast people that have lost their east coast soul. It’s sad.

    • WhatsInTheBoxBlog September 7, 2012 at 7:48 am #

      Yeah, I’m just going to have to give up on Wisconsinites and give in to the all the people from Jersey.

  2. baselassaf September 15, 2012 at 3:47 pm #

    I had no idea that people like “Chad” really existed. What a horrible waste of time for you!

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Thanks for the Franks « What's in the Box? - October 2, 2012

    […]  The totally un-dateable weirdos/psychos such as Chad, Jonah, Dennis, and Tall […]

  2. Where Are They Now? « What's in the Box? - December 26, 2012

    […] from his neck and an overwhelming aura of Axe Body Spray, STEER CLEAR.  Trust me on this one. Chad’s Chickens – After neighbors began complaining about a FOWL smell, detectives unearthed a massive […]

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