Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see - oh, oh it is a gun? Oh.

I am going to come right out with it. I made a mistake. I made a mistake and I am embarrassed to admit it but my insurance only pays for therapy once a week so I have to work it out here in the interim. What was this horrific transgression you ask?

I went on a date.

It had been literally MONTHS since I had gone on a "date" or whatever we are calling the non-labeled interactions with members of the gender we prefer to smash genitals with these days, and I was feeling flirty and confident but have no one I can text "DTF?" to while poorly concealing my desperation with a string of emojis. So I did what any city-dwelling desperate-for-attention almost totally stable adult would do: I downloaded Tinder.

I already had a profile from a 48 hour experiment that I did specifically for this blog and I will link back to that post when I write it, so it was pretty much just plug and play. I swiped left so many times that I got into the zone and just swiped left on everyone because they, "all looked like they were probably assholes."

I realized this was going to be ineffective in getting someone to go out with me so I took my phone to the bathroom with me when I had to poop (at work duh) (JK coworkers reading this) in the hopes that it would afford me a little more time and privacy for careful consideration. I matched with 4 guys. 4. Apparently I come off as probably an asshole too.  One of the guys was a cop, member of the NYPD, and a prime target for some flirtation. I mean, the handcuff jokes alone. . . So I (ill-advisedly) set aside my general distrust of the NYPD and laid into him, breaking the "who is going to message whom first?!" tension with:

"Do they let you keep the handcuffs off duty?"

I was pretty pleased with this. Flirty without being raunchy, suggestive without being overt. His response?

"Lol."

This should have been my first red flag that this was not going end well for me. Lol is not a conversational response. And it is spelled LOL because it is a fucking acronym and that shit belongs in all caps. This is the millennial equivalent of a caveman grunt and indicates to me that A: you aren't paying attention to what I am saying or B: don't care enough about what I am saying to craft a reply of even ONE ENTIRE REAL WORD or C: Can't read. But, being that I feel guilty about making snap judgements (even though they are ALMOST ALWAYS ACCURATE) I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. What follows is an account of all the red flags I encountered during this particular evening and how I went about ignoring them seeing as I am a woman and socially conditioned to ignore my warning signals in deference to male pleasure. Anyway.

 I agreed to meet up with him at this random location in front of a Starbucks in Kips Bay, assuming it was central for both of us. Kips Bay, for those of you who don't know, (which is pretty much everyone except those who live in Kips Bay), is a weird section of Manhattan that is just above the East Village and below Midtown and too far east to be Flatiron. There is a Starbucks and a Chipotle and a bunch of housing complexes that were probably really swanky in the 60's and that is it. Red Flag #2. 

I arrived a few minutes early, waited patiently for ten more and I got a text saying home boy is going to be late. He arrived ten minutes after that. So, to recap thus far, Tinder policeman who had me haul my ass annoyingly far from the train to meet him in Kips Bay outside of a motherfucking STARBUCKS at 8pm on a Tuesday is 20 minutes late. Red Flag #3.

Guy shows up dressed in plainclothes (thank GOD, at least it wasn't obvious that I was one foot in the door to becoming a sad trope from NYPD blue) and clearly had not lied about his height (he was 5'4 as he described Sipowicz represent) and I breathed a sigh of relief because he was attractive and had a pleasant smile.  He hugged me as a greeting, stepped back, looked at me and said:

"Well, now that I can see that you are who you say you are I can go put my gun away."

LOL. LOL right? Because this is clearly a joke.

I smiled politely and asked him where we should get a drink since I don't know the area because NO ONE EVER COMES TO KIPS BAY. He suggested a bar that is closer to the direction I came from and we began walking. We talked a little about his interest in karaoke (Red Flag #4). About halfway down the block he stopped.

"This is my building."

I blink at him. "Oh, uh, cool."

"I'm just gonna get rid of my gun and then we can go."

*****STUNNED SILENCE 27 MEASURES*****

"I'm sorry, I am not understanding. You actually have a gun? Like, in your pocket?"

"In a holster, but yes."

"I'm sorry, YOU HAVE AN ACTUAL MOTHERFUCKING GUN?!"

"Well, I had to make sure you were who you said you were."

RED GODDAMNED FLAG NUMBER FIVE

No. Not even a red flag. A tornado siren. A tsunami warning. Nuclear reactor meltdown.

Anyone hearkening from the place I come from might not find this part of the story odd. After all, in Wisconsin talking about and showing off your weaponry is not only acceptable on a first date, it could be considered foreplay. In New York, however, this is not the case. The only people who have guns are people who procure them illegally to kill other people and Robert DeNiro. In the lefty-liberal-Cuomo-DeBlasio-Fox-News-nightmare that is New York City guns are not only usually illegal to carry, but illegal to even own. If you have ever been on a New York City subway platform when the train is even one minute late you will understand why these laws exist. But back to my astonishment:

"And if I weren't you would have shot me?! That was the only option?"

After a smug chuckle dude says, "Well it didn't have to come to that. Why don't you come inside with me while I put this away?"

"Um, no thanks, I am going to wait outside."

"You already waited so long on the street for me, just come in the lobby."

Noting a security camera I agreed, assuming I could just stand in front of it staring and blink in Morse code or something if this dude and his glock 19 made trouble. Plus it was chilly and I was wearing a dress because when I got dressed that day I was planning on more DTF than SOS. Also HE HAD A GUN so I didn't feel that standing my ground would be the wisest choice on this one.

Once inside he headed down the hallway to his apartment and he badgered me to come in his apartment relentlessly. "Come on, just come in, come ON, COME ON." After politely refusing several times (see above: GUN) and him becoming more agitated and pushy I finally raised my voice loud enough so the neighbors could hear.

"I know you have no idea what it is like to be a woman on a first date with a stranger, but as a police officer I am sure you can understand that there is absolutely no way I am going to enter a stranger's apartment within five minutes of meeting him, and especially when that stranger has a fucking gun, OK?!"

Startled by my outburst and concerned about his neighbors hearing he disappeared into the apartment. I heard the beeps of the safe being opened. He seemed to legitimately be putting the gun away.

Now, people who I have told this story to asked my why I didn't run away at this point (Ibid: GUN). This guy had my full name, my phone number, a general idea of where I worked and what I did, and knew what I looked like. I have no interest in becoming the protagonist of a tragic tale turned overbudget feature film starring Jennifer Lopez. 

The rest of the evening was extremely terse (on my part anyway) while we played trivia at a sports bar (barf, but even after missing a round we came in 3rd because I knew all the answers and everyone chilling in a sports bar in Kips Bay voluntarily on a Tuesday night has the knowledge recall capacity of a potted plant). Guy tried to put his arm around me, ordered for me without my asking him to, touched my knees a lot, and summarily accused me of being cold when I didn't reciprocate. I feigned sleepiness (at 9:30pm) and he walked me out, tried to HOLD MY MOTHERFUCKING HAND and began planning our next date without any input from me. RED FLAGS #6-11.

I got in a cab and deleted Tinder on the way home.

He texted me the next day as though the date went well. RED FLAG #12. I wasn't sure how to react. Do I ignore and have him obsessively track me down? Do I tell him I am not interested and become a lifetime movie that gives Tiffani Thiessen her career back? After some deliberation I came to the conclusion that the only option I had was to ACT LIKE A COMPLETELY INSANE PERSON.

I texted him batshit things including: 40 emojis of a gun (in a row so it was a paragraph of tiny pistols) verses from the Koran, questions about the ASPCA, references to Jesus, and thoughts on feminism until he stopped responding. I figured he wouldn't think twice about it if he thought it was his choice. I was right. 

LOL.