Back in the mid 90s there was something called Telepersonals which is today's equivalent of an internet dating site. You would call a number and leave a message describing yourself and say what you were looking for. The only problem was you didn't see what the person looked like and most of the people lied about their appearance.
I was eighteen at the time when I used this service. The reason why I used it was because I had a friend that said I would not have to pay because his dad was a co-owner of Telepersonals. All I had to do was give him my phone number and his dad would enter it into the system and I would have unlimited minutes for free. But this didn't happen and instead my dad got a phone bill for hundreds of dollars and he almost strangled me with the phone cord.
While I was using the system I came across a voice profile of a girl my age, who sounded interesting and nice. Her name was Cindy. I left her my phone number on her voice mail and she called me. We talked for hours about everything. She was very concerned about what I looked like and how I dressed, so I gave her the best description I could. I asked about her appearance and she said that she looked like the actress, Jennifer Aniston. She also told me she liked to wear sweat and track pants, so I assumed she was athletic, but boy I was wrong. We agreed to meet at her duplex and we would walk to a local restaurant.
I finished my shift at work and took a bus to her neck of the woods and then walked to her house from the bus stop. When I got there I noticed there was no front door so I went around to side where I found an entrance. I thumped on the door and she said, "Come in."
I opened the screen door and was hit by the most foul smell I had ever inhaled. Immediately upon entry two cats ran across my feet. I hated cats. I then walked up five stairs and turned a corner to the kitchen. There was a lady sitting in a chair. I asked where Cindy was and she told me that she was Cindy. She had lied to me on all accounts. She was well into her thirties and had lied about her looks. She resembled nothing close to Jennifer Aniston and her figure was equivalent to three humans. What irritated me the most was she had made no attempt to do anything about her appearance to go out for the evening; sweat pants and a torn up shirt was her attire. Even so, I was there and acted friendly, but deep down I wanted to bolt.
There were at least ten cats in the house crawling on the tables, counters and in the cupboards. It was disgusting. Litter boxes had been left for days, but at least I could be sure there were no mice. She offered me a drink and got up to open the fridge and the chair groaned in relief. The chair she had got out of was permanently bent at a sharp downward angle. Cindy opened the fridge door and all there was inside was a torn package of bloody red meat. She sat back down and continued to smoke, which was something she said she didn't do.
Then a few minutes later a slim, fairly handsome blonde guy came up the stairs. He gave me the look and told me that I reminded him of Marky Mark, but with blonde hair. I shook his hand and she screamed something at him and he went back downstairs. She told me that that was her ex-boyfriend but he was unemployed so she let him stay until he found a job. She got up out of the chair, walked to the stairs and screamed at her ex-boyfriend again, calling him a loser and then threw something down the stairs and he swore back. As she came back to the chair she kicked a cat against the wall.
Then there was about two minutes of eternal silence. At this point I wanted to jump through the window. Suddenly a man, who looked about thirty walked into the room. He was a splitting image of the actor Jim Carrey. Another boyfriend, I thought. He asked me who I was. That's when I realized he was mentally challenged. Cindy said that she had brought him in because his previous caregivers had him taken away by social services because they had been feeding him dog food.
He asked me to play video games with him and I agreed. He then said, "Do you want to hear a joke?"
"Sure," I said.
"What do you call nuts on the wall?"
"I don't know."
"What do you call nuts on your chest?"
"I don't know."
"What do you call nuts on your forehead?"
"I don't know."
"Having a good time."
I burst out laughing even though he had told the last part of the joke wrong. The final part of the joke should have been. What do you call nuts on your chin not forehead? Having a good time.
After playing video games with him for an hour I said it was time to go and Cindy called me a cab. She walked me outside when the cab came. I sat down in the cab and she leaned in for the kiss. I slammed the door. The cab drove away slowly. I had my window down. She stumbled along side and said, "Will I ever see you again?"
I told the driver to floor the gas.