Scotty High-Five

Year: 2009
Scene of the Crime: Cocoran's in Old Town
Time of Day: 11:00 pm
Moral of the Story: Borat lied. 'High-fives' aren't 'very nice.'
Rating: 2 out of 5 goose bumps (the bad kind)

Back in 2009, I was pretty into online dating and meeting as many different personality types so I could figure out "what I was looking for." During this open-minded, exploration phase, I met Scott, who I will refer to as Scotty High-Five from hereon-out.

I was messaging with a young "entrepreneur" who was very "spontaneous" and "always up for fun" for a few days and was excited to finally meet him to see if anything was there or not. If nothing else, I was sure that we would be friends because he seemed to energetic and interesting.

He called me on a Thursday night at 10:00 pm and suggested we meet for a drink in Old Town that same night because it would be fun and "spontaneous."  At the time, I was working from home and figured a little spontaneity would be a good thing, so I got dressed and set out to meet him.

I arrived just fashionably late at 10 minutes past our meeting time only to find a deserted bar. I thought that I blew it and was left for being so tardy. As I was about to call to apologize, I got a text that read "I'm sorry senorita, I was talking to Ma Madre on the tele."  This struck a nerve with me becomes now he was 20 minutes late, was texting with Spanish and British lingo, of which we was neither. Let me remind you the date and location were HIS idea.

Ok, relax, I told myself as I calmed myself down and decided to stay five more minutes to see if he would show up. He showed up and was nearly double in size from his profile and clearly hopped up on something that I can only imagine was illegal or taken in access of the prescription.

While I tried to chug my Blue Moon and call it a wash, his exuberance grew as did his indoor voice. He was so excited to identify all of the many things we had in common like pizza, summer, vacations, reading, puppies, Christmas, etc-you know-the really deep connecting fibers of capability. With every match, he offered up an over-the-top, must stand-out-of-your-seat-to-reach, high-five. Instead of just nodding in agreement, this bro would leap from his seat and yell "Place it!" "Up top" while using his free hand to point to his high-five posed hand. I played along with it, reluctantly at first, but then had to tell him that I needed to turn my high-fives into low-fives because it was drawing a lot of attention from the bartender and a few patrons who trickled in.

Now let me just say this-there's nothing wrong with high-fiving someone. Like say, after a winning goal is scored, you win a round of Sherades with your team or are teaching a toddler or dog new tricks. On a first date is not one of them.

If I had to tally the number of high-gives, I would have to say we had excess of 50. So many that I developed tendinitis in my elbow and had developed itchy raw palms. We were a foam finger and chest bump away from being on the Jumbotron of the United Center-or so it felt.

When Scotty High-Five excuses himself to go to the restroom, a couple at a table across the bar, paid for my drink and invited me to their table and told me to pretend we were old friends so that I had an easy exit. It worked like a charm. When he came back, my drink was covered and I was coated up, ready to leave. He slammed his drink and wanted to walk me to a taxi, but then immediately told me that he needed to go to Walgreens to buy a DiGiornono pizza for a midnight snack. I have a feeling a large frozen pizza might have contributed to his extra padding, but I'm not a doctor. Just a guess.