We all know that Tinder isn’t the best filter when it comes to finding potential dates. Yes you’re vetting people based on their appearances and whoop-dee-doo you matched with a hottie, but looks can be deceiving…and by “deceiving” I mean “people know they’re ugly but still wanna get laid so they use fake/old photos from before they gained 500 pounds and sprouted a third arm out of their forehead.” While it may not have happened to you (yet), catfishing is alive and well in the world of Internet/phone app dating.
Don’t believe me? Let this horrifying tale of how Reddit user pinky0926 matched a pretty girl on Tinder and then wound up chillin’ with a crackwhore in a meth house as their “date.”
So her pictures were pretty, she seemed normal. I hadn’t done the Tinder thing before so I didn’t know what to expect, but when she invited me over to her place I figured I’d scored pretty hard. I showered, groomed, and drove the 20-30 minutes to her address. I’m not even worried about safety, she’s just a small girl right? I’ll be fine. My concern at this point is whether I’ll measure up.
I get there and I’m wondering if I have the right place. It’s completely overgrown. The grass hasn’t been cut in 7000 years. The walls needed a fresh coat of paint a decade ago. Are…are the windows boarded up? I check the letterbox for the house number and check the message again – yep, this seems to be the right place. I guess it’s just a crappy old house.
I knock and after about a minute she comes to the door. Unpleasant surprise no.1: she looks 15 years older than in her pictures and haggard; like she hasn’t slept in a week haggard. I don’t know what the fuck she’s wearing but it looks like a vague attempt at sexy. Like, I bought this leopard print dress at walmart 15 years ago sexy.
I’m already thinking about how to get out of this as she invites me inside. It’s even worse in here. The paint is peeling everywhere, it’s dark and messy. It smells quite unpleasant. She invites me into her room, which is lit up like a cheap brothel.
She sits down on her bed and asks if I mind if she smokes. Smoking in your house? That’s a bit gross, but it’s not really a surprise at this point. I say sure.
And that’s when she pulls the meth pipe out of her bag.
It all clicks. The garden, the paint, the boarded up windows, the smell, her appearance. This is a crack den and she is a crack whore.
Now I’m afraid. What is this house? Are we alone? Are 4 gangbangers going to jump out of the other room and mug me?
So I nope’d out of there as fast as you can say “oh holy fuck nope”, making some vague excuse about getting cold feet. She wasn’t really bothered; she was higher than the empire state by this point and rolling around on her bed.
I drove home feeling dirty and showered again. And that was the story of my first ever tinder date.
“And that, kids, is how I met your mother.”