Prepare to Be Boarded

Story Sent in by Deborah:

On September 19th, I had a date with Nathan. Apparently, someone neglected to tell me that it was Talk Like a Pirate Day, because he showed up decked out in full pirate regalia. He had a peg leg, a patch over one eye, a bandanna, large hoop earrings, and an immense (fake) black beard.

He brandished a shiny plastic sword in my direction, right in the restaurant parking lot, and let out a colossal, "Yar!"

At first I didn't realize that he was my date, but then he leaped to my side and said, "Yar! I be yer captain fer the evening. Pirate Nate!"

I thought it was amusing. "Nice to meet you, Nate–"

"Pirate Nate!"

"...Pirate Nate."

"Yar!"

We were at a place known for good seafood, and it had an outdoor deck. The hostess gave us some strange looks, and Nathan felt the need to say, "Keep looking, lass, and it'll be the last yer glassies ever viddy! Yar!"

So he was kind of a Clockwork Orange pirate. He asked me what I wanted to drink. I ordered a martini, and he ordered, well...

"Rum! Lots 'o rum!" he told the waiter.

I asked Nate, "Are you going to talk like a pirate the whole time?"

He half-shouted, in response, "Yar! I be Pirate Nate! Where's me rum?"

Yep. It was going to be one of those nights.

I figured that I'd have a good time with him while it lasted. Over the course of dinner, he downed more rum than I thought physically possible for a human (pirate or otherwise), and he only ate with his knife.

He asked me about my day, my hobbies, my weekend plans, all in his pirate way. I'm really glad I stuck around, weird as it was. He kept me in stitches.

When the check came, I offered to pay for myself, but he slammed a fist on the table and said, "No lass of mine will ever lay their booty down at me feet!" I took that to mean that he insisted on paying, and so I thanked him. Once dinner was over (I can't remember ever seeing a waiter so relieved to see someone leave a restaurant), we went outside, to the parking lot.

Nate put his hands on my shoulders and said, "Want to help me dig fer treasure in me pants?"

His pants were green and white-striped and puffy. As amusing as they were, I had no real desire to discover what treasures awaited within. I said, "I'm very grateful for dinner, but maybe not tonight?"

His face visibly darkened, and for a moment, I was afraid that he'd scream or shout or do something physically violent.

He turned away, gave a defeated-sounding, "Yar..." trudged to his vehicle, opened his car door, and muttered, "Lord Internet will be me bride tonight," and drove away.