Anyone who has been single in the past couple years, or dated someone they don’t really respect like, knows about Tinder. The premise is simple and brutal: swipe left for the uggos and right for the hotties. Since this is the only criteria with which you can judge someone on Tinder, the importance of an attractive and current photo is paramount. I cannot stress this point enough. Current, recent, present-day. Whichever word you choose, the idea is the same. We don’t want your baby pics or the one of you on your high school graduation day, or the one from when you still had all of your hair. Common courtesy is that you’re recognizable in public from your Tinder pictures.

I had been putting in some work on Tinder and started chatting with an extremely good looking dude. From his pictures he appeared tall, athletic, stylish and had just enough scruff on his face to be sexy. After a week of tindering (yes it’s a verb), we decided to meet. It must’ve been his ability to talk about something other than the size of his dick or bank account that caught me off guard enough to finally agree to this.

The plan was to meet at 6:30, but I was considerate enough to inform him at 6:28 that I would be late. I am of the mind that showing up late to a date minimizes the chances of having to wait around like an asshole. He had chosen a small dive bar that was convenient for us both. I agreed to this particular location because it’s always dark inside and dim lighting does everyone a favor.

So I showed up late. I walk into the bar and look to the right. A few couples and an older gentleman were sitting at the bar, but no one I recognize. I turn to the left. Again, no one I recognize. My assumption/hope that he was running later than me could NOT have been more inaccurate. I decide to walk to the left. I hear someone calling my name and simultaneously my jaw falls to the floor. Gramps is calling my name from the right side of the bar. Fucking. Damn. It.

I had been caught. I had to acknowledge my name and turned to get a look at Gramps. There is no exaggeration when I say he was unrecognizable. His hair had grown to that “awkward” boy length and was a wavy mess. His facial hair was unkempt and resembled Tom Hanks in Cast Away. Actually, Tom Hanks pulled that off. My face must’ve had a look of utter repulsion because he started to do that nervous smiling thing where he bares his teeth and then closes his mouth while trying not to throw up.

The assumption that he was athletic, stylish and sexy was accurate. In 1996. Needless to say, his pictures were NOT current. I managed to salvage what was left of my sanity by shot gunning beers while playing 20 questions and doing a shitty job at feigning interest. I must’ve asked him what he did for work no less than 14 times. No amount of alcohol can keep me from acting like a bitch when my expectations of current picture (seriously, how many times do I have to say it?) aren’t met. Fortunately, the number of drinks I consumed gave me an easy out and I fell on my ass gracefully exited the situation never to speak to him again. Sorry not sorry Gramps.

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