There are lots of things that give me anxiety: talking to my crush, using the microwave after midnight, going out without lotion, etc. But, above all, I become one giant, sweaty ball of anxiety when it comes to dating and I'm not sure why. I love meeting new people, I love eating free food, I love movies and popcorn and mini golf, laughing, telling stories; I was literally built to go on dates (like, come date me). So you can imagine my heart rate and blood pressure when I was asked to go see a movie by a lovely gentleman named Rob*.

Let me give you some background: My roommates convinced me to try online dating because at times I can be a bit of a homebody and when I finally leave the house, nine times out of ten I resemble a used tissue (but I digress). This particular online dating site is where I met Rob. After about one week of off and on messaging, he asked me to see a movie at a local theater. I, of course, agreed (being a lover of movies and free stuff) and immediately after had a bit of a panic attack. There's just a lot that goes into going on a date: picking an outfit, doing your makeup, wondering if they'll like you, wondering if you look enough like your flawless selfie, possibly shaving (but, nah, I'll wear long pants, thank you). It's a lot of work and I guess I'm just really not here for it. So, after a foggy mirror, after-shower pep-talk and some encouraging words from my roommates, I decided to go. This turned out to be the wrong decision.

Rob picked me up in a mini van. Now, I am not one to judge a person's means of transportation being that I don't own a car of my own, But there's just something highly suspect about a 20-something year old driving a 1990-something modeled minivan. That car was made around the time you were made...that's sus. But I brushed it off and got on in. It's not how we get there, it's that we simply do. After I got in though, I looked behind me and saw that the back of his van was boarded up: I kid you not. It was boarded up like some old cathedral window and there was a small door cut out with a make-shift handle. My mind went crazy: maybe he's hiding children in there. Maybe he's transformed the back of his van to a giant freezer where he keeps the bodies of his enemies, etc. I admit, I watch a little too much Law and Order, but...people are crazy. I couldn't rule out those hypotheses.

The ride to the theater was fine until Rob broke the news to me that he left his wallet at home. I get it, everyone makes mistakes, maybe he was nervous and left it on the table before he came to get me; no big deal. I paid for the tickets and my popcorn (petty, I know) and we made our way in. Throughout the duration of the movie, Rob kept blowing his nose..into a hankie. If you know me, you know I'm a low-key germaphobe and reusable tissues are the bane of my existence (sorry Mother Nature). This wouldn't have been as bad had he not tried to hold my hand after he dumped all his boogers into that cesspool of a hankie and then wiped his nose with his palm. I was going to let my guard down and just be okay with the germs but I couldn't do it: I casually brushed my hair out of my face with the hand he tried to hold and then sat on my hands. I know...petty again, but I don't regret it. He also kept leaning over to talk to me during the movie..loudly. I'm a film major so that's basically blasphemy in my book. We were even shushed a few times.

The movie was fine, nothing too amazing and after we walked back out to his..van (see? even typed out is looks highly suspect). We sat in the van for a while and I looked around awkwardly wondering why he was not starting the car. I looked over at him and he was just staring at me...really hard. I honestly don't remember him blinking. I smiled back and let out an award giggle but he just kept staring. I asked him if he was ready to go and he said he wanted to show me something. At this point my palms began to sweat and I started to recite the Lord's prayer just in case I met him later that night. You know, no biggie. He turned in his seat to face the back of the van and put his hand on the handle of the tiny door at the back of his van. He pulled it open and told me to look inside. I halfway peeped, seeing nothing being that it was pitch black in there, and said "cool, it's like a little hut back there!" I was really ready to go now. Part of me hoped he would start the car and drive on and part of me considered jumping out and running home. Then he asked me if I wanted to go inside.

OF COURSE I DON'T WANT TO GO INSIDE OF YOUR CREEPY VAN HUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE, THE GIRL IN THE BIKINI IN THE HORROR MOVIE? I KNOW BLACK PEOPLE DIE FIRST IN THOSE FILMS. I REFUSE TO BE A STEREOTYPE!

That's what I wanted to say, but I politely declined letting him know that I couldn't even see back there. To this, his promptly whipped out his smartphone and shone his flashlight back there. I looked in and saw toilet paper, a sleeping bag, a lantern, bleach, stacks of clothing, a toothbrush, jugs of water and several pairs of shoes. It was a lot less scary that what I had imagined and was relieved for a second until I realized: Rob was definitely living in this van.

The petty side of me wanted to call him out for lying about leaving his wallet "at home" being that I was literally sitting in his home but I figured that would be insensitive. I looked back at him and I could see he wanted me to understand his situation without having to say it. I just smiled a cheeky grin and politely asked him to take me home.

Moral of this story: online dating is the pits, mini vans are high-key sus; no question, and Nia's dating anxiety is still alive and well. Thanks, Rob!

*I've changed his name to preserve his privacy and identity.