The Strangest Date I Ever Survived

The Strangest Date I Ever Survived

To say I’ve had bad dates is like saying the ocean is slightly damp. But nothing—and I mean nothing—prepared me for the strangest, most gloriously awkward date I ever survived.

It started with a dating app, of course.

His profile read: “Lover of dogs, coffee, spontaneous adventures. Not afraid of snakes.”

That last part should’ve been a red flag. But no, I swiped right, intrigued by his crooked smile and self-deprecating humor. His name was Eric, and after a week of exchanging witty banter, we agreed to meet.

Location: A quirky coffee shop downtown known for its vintage decor and indoor plants. Safe, public, perfect.

Or so I thought.

The first ten minutes were... promising.

Eric looked like his pictures—a rare miracle—and he was just as funny in person. We ordered coffee, found a cozy corner, and bonded over bad movie sequels and our mutual inability to keep houseplants alive.

I was genuinely thinking, Maybe the universe isn’t trying to sabotage my love life after all.

That’s when he said, “Hey, I have a surprise planned. Hope you’re up for an adventure.”

Now, I love spontaneity—within reason. So, curiosity won, and I agreed.

Mistake #1.

We left the coffee shop, walking a few blocks until we reached… The Reptile Room.

Yes, an actual reptile exhibit—snakes, lizards, amphibians galore—housed inside what looked like a converted warehouse. I froze at the entrance.

“Uh, I should’ve mentioned,” Eric said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I volunteer here on weekends. Figured you’d want the behind-the-scenes tour.”

I wanted to say, Actually, I’d rather crawl into a hole, but pride kept me standing.

Mistake #2.

Inside, it smelled like warm terrariums and fear. Glass tanks lined the walls, each housing creatures I actively avoided in daily life. But Eric was glowing—talking passionately about conservation, their personalities (snakes have personalities?), and how misunderstood reptiles are.

I nodded, feigning bravery, until he said the words that haunt me:

"Wanna hold one?"

I should’ve declined. Run. Faked an emergency.

But no, I was determined to impress the man who thought snakes were “cute.”

He reached into a tank and pulled out a long, coiled python named Butterscotch—named for its tan and gold pattern, which I could appreciate… from across the room.

But before I could protest, Butterscotch was draped across my shoulders like a living, breathing, judgmental scarf.

Fun fact: When nervous, I freeze. Physically. Mentally. Completely.

So, there I stood, arms limp at my sides, a literal snake around my neck, trying to appear calm while my inner monologue screamed:

"You’re going to die on a first date. From constriction. In a warehouse full of reptiles."

Eric, oblivious to my terror, beamed. “She likes you! She can sense good energy.”

I had no energy left. Only sweat and regret.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get stranger, it did.

A staff member rushed over, panicked. “Has anyone seen Kevin?”

I thought Kevin was a person. I was wrong.

Kevin, it turned out, was a six-foot-long iguana. An escaped six-foot-long iguana.

Cue full-blown reptile chaos.

Staff scrambled. Visitors screamed. Someone knocked over a display, and a tank shattered—mercifully empty, but the noise sent Butterscotch tightening slightly around my neck.

I was seconds from passing out when Eric gently removed her, whispering reassuring nonsense like, “It’s all good vibes here.”

Good vibes? There was a lizard uprising happening!

Eventually, Kevin was found lounging atop a shelf, blissfully unaware of the chaos he caused. The staff cheered. I exhaled for the first time in twenty minutes.

Eric turned to me, hopeful. “So, still up for dinner?”

Dinner? After surviving accidental strangulation and a reptile jailbreak?

Absolutely not.

But I’m polite to a fault, so I smiled weakly and said, “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

He laughed, genuinely unfazed, and to his credit, didn’t pressure me. We parted ways with an awkward hug and mutual understanding that we were… fundamentally different people.

Moral of the story: Never trust anyone who puts “not afraid of snakes” in their dating profile. It’s a coded warning.

That date taught me two things:

My survival instincts kick in embarrassingly late.

First dates should never involve creatures that can swallow you whole.

I survived, though.

Barely.

And hey, at least I got a story out of it—the strangest date I ever endured, wrapped in reptiles, regret, and a surprising amount of self-reflection.