16 March, 2010

The Dirty Liar

Meet Candidate No. 1. He's 5'10", 35 years old, and speaks both French and Latin. An urban, inner-city dweller, he's a sculptor and painter. And while he smokes a little, he's trying to give up.

Sounds dishy, doesn't he? Rrrrrow.

I met Candidate No. 1 for lunch.

I arrived exactly on time (as always), and sitting out the front of the restaurant with a fag hanging out of his mouth was a short little guy with mustard coloured teeth and thinning hair.

Slightly mortified, I took my seat opposite. He flashed me a wide, nicotine smile, poured himself a glass of wine, and lit up another fag. We talked of this and that, and I asked him about his French. Well actually, I said "je parle un petit peu francais. Où avez-vous appris la langue?"

[Insert awkward pause here].

After a minute or two of blank Homer face, he smiled nervously and nodded. Clearly, there was no French there. I'd wager a month's salary that he spoke no Latin, either.

He continued to drink steadily.

Turns out he wasn't really a sculptor (although apparently did a sculpture once in art class in high school - it was an abstract piece), but rather, was a boiler-maker working at a small company that manufactured tin dingies. Fascinating stuff.

Another bottle down the hatch.

It was around this point that he made a comment about his fortieth birthday. Fortieth hey? I mentioned that his internet profile said 35. Caught out again, he shrugged and laughed. I called for the bill. He, on the other had, having nervously scoffed at least a bottle and half of wine, lost his balance and fell backward off his chair.

Needless to say, I had to let him go.

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