Confused by the running and the screaming...?

Just so nobody thinks I'm just resting on my laurels, doing nothing with the time left on my Lavalife account, I would like to introduce you to Gary*. I would also like to point out that there's no way I would ever have laurels to actually rest on.

I'm assuming 'laurels' refers to some kind of plant material, and as I am a prolific serial-killer of plants, laurels are not likely to survive that long in my care. Why anybody would rest on them, or where the saying comes from I'm not really well-educated enough to say, so we're just going to go with it.

Anyhoodle. I was suspicious of Gary from the start. His picture seemed too contrived, too plastic and his profile made him seem too wealthy. If a good-looking man is successful enough to divide his time between Florida, Arizona and Victoria developing real estate, one has to wonder what could possibly be so wrong with him that he doesn't have women attached to his fly by their teeth.

I didn't have to wonder long. We met at Starbucks for coffee, fairly early in the day. I walked in, and did a quick scan of the room hoping for recognition. Married couple. Old guy. Flaming gay guy. Skateboarder dude...and back to the flaming gay guy. Oh my dear lord -- it's the flaming gay guy.

I don't mean this in a derogatory or facetious way at all, and I don't mean to imply that all gay men are flaming but I do have to say that if Gary started waving a sequined scarf and yelling "yoo-hoo," I would not have been surprised. My gaydar did not just go off, it caught on fire and caused a rolling black-out in California.

Resigned, I figured there was no way anything would come out of this but if we could talk about shopping then the morning could be salvaged, because I really wanted to know where he got his entire outfit.

He bought my steamed milk, which will become important in a moment. We sat down to chat, and if I thought things couldn't get any stranger, I was humbled yet again.

Gary replied to all of my questions with one word answers, and asked me nothing. I began to make a game out of it, asking questions I felt would have to warrant some kind of sentence structure in response, just to see what he would do. Example:

Bambi: Tell me about living in the states as a Canadian - what was most different about the culture there?

Gary the Gay Guy: Much.

Bambi: Much? Like a lot of differences? Tell me what you noticed most?

Gary the Gay Guy: Groceries.

Groceries?? I would have kept going, but Gary was distracting my attention away from this enthralling exchange by making a big production out of his keys. He had taken them out of his pocket and was working hard to arrange them just so, jingling and jangling until he had them settled.

Then he went through quite the elaborate effort to smooth them a certain way on the table. I was mesmerized. When he had finished, he slowly pushed the keys toward me for optimum viewing. He had succeeded in displaying his Mercedes Benz key tag facing me, and all of his other keys away.

Unsure what to do or say in response, I sipped my steamed milk. Somehow I felt dragging out my giant cluster of keys only to display my auto-unlock doohickey would be kind of an insult -- especially since I know the batteries need replacing.

I suppose my non-reaction left him with little choice. He goes into his pocket again, and pulls out a clear plastic baggie, secured with an elastic band and filled with pills. Finally, he speaks.

Gary: These are my vitamins.

Now I'm baffled. Perhaps the pills he's put on the table are actually illegal. Perhaps he's trying to show me he's an ecstasy dealer, and that's really how he makes his money. Perhaps he thinks I'm going to want to buy some. I peer closely at the baggie, trying to establish whether I'm about to be swept up in some kind of drug sting.

Instead I see...vitamins. I believe I actually identified a Vitamin C Chewable. Now I'm really at a loss. I could not think of what the required response would be. Am I just not experienced enough at casual dating? Is this something that happens often that I should know about? My silence prompted Gary to speak again -- he was finally on a roll.

Gary: That's a two-day supply.

Huh. I've come to a crossroads now. I can ignore this weirdness, or I can reach into my bag, pull out my bottle of Advil, put that on the table and declare my own two-day supply. I went with ignoring the weirdness, which proved to be another mistake.

Apparently revealing his health regime and expensive car put Gary at ease, or as much ease as could be found if you're a flaming gay man on a coffee date with a woman. Gary began to talk about how he enjoyed that particular Starbucks for the atmosphere, but it was just too bad I had to go and order such an expensive drink. It's the one thing he hates about Starbucks, and I went and proved the point.

Remember when I said I ordered a steamed milk, and it would be important later? That time is now. I took my eyes off his baggie, relieved that he was cracking a joke. Only, he wasn't joking. This confused, closeted bastard with a Mercedes Benz and sunglasses on top of his head that cost more than my rent for a month was tearing a strip off of me for ordering a plain, steamed milk.

His total bill for our little date at Starbucks came to $4.41. I know, because I was standing right there. He also ordered a drink, so my contribution to this astronomical expense was somewhere in the range of a toonie. Homeless people sip more expensive beverages than what I had ordered and so -- I was done.

My date with Gary lasted 25 minutes before I fled the Starbucks, grateful for my two-day supply of pills which were about to come in a handy and grateful my particular brand of crazy is fairly well-hidden -- at least compared to Gary.

***Naturally I've changed Gary's name but I'm confident if any of you come across him on Lavalife or in real life - you'll know who he is, and you'll have have my sympathies.