In What Universe Is a 2025 Maybach $10,000 With $500 Down?
Every so often, I come across something on social media that makes me stop scrolling, stare at the screen, and wonder whether I've somehow crossed into an alternate universe.
Today's contestant comes courtesy of TikTok.
The account is called “seize repossessed cars”, with the username @seize.repossessed.
Here is the video that caught my attention:
The video shows what is described as a 2025 Mercedes-Benz Maybach S680 V12.
The asking price?
$10,000.
The down payment?
$500.
I'm sorry.
In what universe is that possible?
Apparently Maybachs Are Affordable Now
We're talking about a Maybach S680—a car that costs well into six figures.
And I'm supposed to believe somebody has one available for $10,000?
Not $100,000.
$10,000.
And don't worry if I don't happen to have the entire $10,000 sitting between my couch cushions.
According to the video:
Down payment: $500.
Well, that's convenient.
Maybe Mercedes-Benz has been doing this luxury-car thing wrong all along.
What Is a 2025 Maybach S680 Actually Worth?
This is where the numbers make the TikTok offer even harder for me to comprehend.
According to Kelley Blue Book, the 2025 Mercedes-Maybach S680 4MATIC had an original MSRP of about $241,650. KBB currently estimates a Fair Purchase Price around $195,000, with trade-in/resale figures still deep into six figures.
Edmunds tells essentially the same story. Its appraisal estimates for the S680 put trade-in values roughly in the $148,000–$164,000 range, depending on condition, with dealer-retail estimates roughly $175,000–$195,000.
I can't tell you the true wholesale value of the specific car in the TikTok video without knowing its VIN, mileage, condition, accident history, and title status. But trade-in values at least give me a reasonable frame of reference for what a dealer might expect at the lower end of the market.
Then there's actual retail inventory.
Cars.com shows a used 2025 Maybach S680S with an average asking price around $234,000, with examples starting around the mid-$180,000s and climbing considerably higher depending on mileage and equipment.
I even found something that makes the $10,000 price look more ridiculous.
Copart has listed a damaged 2025 Maybach S680 for a salvage auction with an estimated retail value above $200,000.
Let me make sure I understand this.
A damaged Maybach headed toward a salvage auction can have an estimated retail value north of $200,000.
But the beautiful Maybach I'm looking at on TikTok is supposedly:
$10,000.
And I can apparently get things moving with:
$500 down.
Maybe I'm shopping for cars the wrong way.
Retail: $175,000–$234,000+. TikTok: $10,000.
Put the numbers side by side, and the difference becomes almost comical.
Depending on the valuation source, condition, and mileage, we're looking at roughly $150,000–$164,000 on the lower trade-in side, approximately $175,000–$195,000 in estimated dealer-retail values, and actual retail asking prices averaging around $234,000.
The TikTok price?
$10,000.
That's not somebody giving me 10% off.
That's not somebody giving me 25% off.
That's not even somebody having a really bad day at the dealership.
We're talking about a price that could be well over $100,000 below a reasonable wholesale/trade valuation and more than $200,000 below some retail asking prices.
At some point, “great deal” stops being my first thought.
My first thought becomes:
What exactly am I buying for $10,000?
“But Niel, It's Repossessed!”
The TikTok account calls itself “seize repossessed cars.”
I understand what repossession means.
Banks repossess vehicles. Vehicles go to auction. Some sell below retail value. Deals absolutely exist.
But there's a difference between getting a deal and apparently finding a quarter-million-dollar luxury sedan priced like a 15-year-old used car.
And the Maybach isn't the only bargain advertised on this profile.
In the screenshot I captured, I could see a Lexus advertised for $15,000, a Mercedes G-Class for $25,000, a Ford Bronco for $6,000, and other late-model SUVs around $9,000.
Many also have remarkably small advertised down payments.
That immediately makes me wonder:
Is the car really the product—or is getting the down payment the objective?
Then I Saw WhatsApp
The profile says:
“Cheap cars for sale shipping worldwide 💯”
It lists a phone number.
It also lists a WhatsApp number and provides a direct WhatsApp link.
To be clear, WhatsApp itself isn't inherently suspicious. Millions of legitimate people and businesses use WhatsApp every day.
But combine these ingredients:
TikTok + $200,000-ish Maybach + $10,000 asking price + $500 down + worldwide shipping + WhatsApp
...and I'm going to have a few questions before reaching for my wallet.
Actually, I'm going to have a lot of questions.
The $500 Is the Part That Really Interests Me
Forget the $10,000 asking price for a moment.
Think about the $500 down payment.
If somebody asked me to send $10,000 to a stranger I encountered through TikTok, my answer would be pretty easy.
No.
But $500?
That's different psychologically.
Someone might think:
It's only $500.
What if it's legitimate?
What if someone else buys the Maybach before I do?
I don't want to lose this opportunity.
Suddenly, sending $500 might feel like a reasonable gamble for the chance to buy a vehicle potentially worth somewhere around $200,000.
And that's precisely why I wouldn't send it.
What Happens If My $500 Disappears?
I want to make an important distinction here.
I am not saying this particular TikTok account takes deposits and disappears.
I haven't purchased anything from them.
I haven't contacted them.
I haven't sent them money.
I don't know what would happen if I tried to buy this Maybach.
But I know what risk I'd be considering.
Imagine I contact someone through TikTok.
The conversation moves to WhatsApp.
I'm told that $500 will hold the vehicle.
I send $500.
Then...
Nothing.
No Maybach.
No delivery.
No refund.
The messages slow down.
The phone isn't answered.
The WhatsApp account stops responding.
Maybe I'm blocked.
Maybe the social-media account disappears.
And suddenly my imaginary $10,000 Maybach and my very real $500 have something in common:
They've both disappeared.
That's the scenario I'd want to protect myself against.
Or Maybe $500 Is Just the Beginning
There's another possibility I'd consider before sending money.
Maybe the initial $500 isn't the end.
Perhaps next comes a shipping charge.
Then insurance.
Then documentation.
Then a title fee.
Then taxes.
Then an auction-release fee.
Then there's an unexpected problem getting the vehicle transported, and you need another payment.
Again, I'm not saying this particular account does any of those things.
I'm explaining why I would never let the excitement of a ridiculously cheap luxury vehicle convince me to send a deposit before independently verifying everything.
WhatsApp Doesn't Make a $200,000 Maybach Cost $10,000
Before I handed over one dollar, I'd want to know exactly what I'm buying.
I'd want the VIN and to check it independently.
I'd verify the title.
I'd verify the vehicle's history.
I'd confirm legal ownership.
I'd confirm that the person offering it actually has the authority to sell it.
I'd verify the vehicle's physical location.
I'd want to see it myself or have an independent professional inspect it.
If it's truly a repossession, I'd want to understand who repossessed it, how it was acquired, and how the title is being transferred.
Most importantly, I wouldn't let the seller provide all the evidence I'm using to verify the seller.
If someone sends me a website, a title, an inspection, a shipping company, and a payment method, and all of those things ultimately trace back to the same person asking me for $500, I haven't independently verified much of anything.
Maybe I'm Missing the Deal of the Century
Could there be some explanation for this?
Sure.
Maybe there's something about the vehicle that isn't apparent in the video.
Maybe some terms aren't shown.
Maybe the $10,000 doesn't represent what I think it represents.
Maybe I've stumbled across the greatest automotive bargain in America.
Maybe tomorrow I'll find a Lamborghini for $7,500 with $250 down.
At this rate, by Friday somebody will offer me a Bugatti in exchange for a $50 Amazon gift card and three Wendy's Frosty coupons.
I'll take my chances.
Because when I see:
2025 Mercedes-Benz Maybach S680 V12
Typical six-figure market value
Asking price: $10,000
Down payment: $500
Contact through WhatsApp
my first thought isn't:
“Where do I send the money?”
It's:
In What Universe Is That Possible?
Until I can independently prove the car exists, verify its VIN and title, determine who owns it, confirm the person offering it has the legal authority to sell it, and independently verify how my money is being handled, my $500 isn't going anywhere.
Losing the deal of the century would be disappointing.
Sending $500 and watching both the money and the Maybach disappear would be considerably worse.
If you've encountered an unbelievable vehicle listing, suspicious seller or social-media deal that made you stop scrolling and ask, “How is this possible?”, send it to me at niel@nielflamm.com.
First, remove any sensitive personal or financial information.
I'm always curious to see which universe the algorithm sends me into next.
The Hinge Experiment: My Eyebrows Are Now Part of the Story
I'm older than most people wandering around the dating-app wilderness, and saying I don't have much recent dating experience would be an understatement.
Actually, forget recent.
I don't have much dating experience, period.
My last first date was about five months ago.
For anyone new to the blog, that one didn't exactly end with a mug and talk of a Boo Basket.
She tried to shake me down.
First, it was rent money.
Then came the phone bill.
Luckily, I escaped after paying for a meal, a few hurricanes, and maybe $60 cash that I had on me.
Considering how that evening was headed, I consider myself lucky.
So now that I've had an actual enjoyable first date with Airica, I've encountered an entirely new problem:
What the hell am I supposed to do next?
Is There Still a Three-Day Rule?
Do I wait three days?
Four days?
Do I call?
Text?
Send a carrier pigeon?
Do I conjure up a magical genie and ask it to grant me three wishes, with one of them being:
"Please don't let me screw this up."
I don't know the rules.
The last time I had a first date, I was apparently supposed to bring enough cash to cover someone's monthly expenses.
This feels different.
Thankfully, Airica may have answered the question for me.
Good Morning
Today is a dialysis day.
That means my alarm goes off around 4:15 in the morning so I can start getting myself together and make my 5:50 dialysis start.
Once I'm hooked up, I usually try to sleep.
It makes the time go faster.
But this morning, I got a more-than-pleasant surprise.
A "Good morning" text from Airica.
WAIT.
WHAT?
I don't have to wait three days?
I don't need the genie?
I don't need to analyze the date like the Zapruder film?
Apparently, people who enjoy talking to each other can just…
continue talking to each other.
What a concept.
I was so pleasantly surprised that my dialysis needles almost came shooting out.
For the record, that would have significantly changed the tone of this blog post.
But I Had a Question
On my drive to dialysis this morning, I started thinking about something Airica said during our date.
I had asked her why she swiped on me.
Her answer?
Apparently, I had an "interesting look."
Interesting.
I've been thinking about that one.
Is "interesting look" another way of saying:
"You're not ugly, but I'm also not prepared to call you conventionally handsome"?
At this stage of my life, interesting works.
I've got one leg, no hair, questionable eyesight, kidneys that have outsourced their responsibilities to a machine three days a week, and now apparently an interesting face.
Put that on Hinge.
Then She Mentioned the Eyebrows
Airica also pointed out my eyebrows yesterday.
Specifically…
how bushy they are.
Excuse me?
My eyebrows?
Bushy?
No way.
All right.
Maybe a little.
Actually, this isn't the first time I've heard this.
It's becoming something of a recurring theme.
Most Tuesdays and Fridays during the fraternity Zoom hangout, I can count on someone to remind me that my eyebrows have apparently declared independence from the rest of my face.
Then there's a guy at one of my recovery meetings who calls me:
Ming the Merciless.
If you're not familiar with Ming, look him up.
Look at the eyebrows.
Apparently, you'll understand.
And now Airica has joined the Eyebrow Oversight Committee.
At some point, when multiple independent organizations reach the same conclusion, I suppose I have to consider the possibility that there might actually be a problem.
They're Large and in Charge
I told Airica this isn't the first time I've heard about them.
These eyebrows are large and in charge.
It's actually a little unfair.
My head decided years ago that growing hair was no longer part of the strategic plan.
Meanwhile, my eyebrows apparently looked at the newly available resources and said:
"We'll take it from here."
All the hair production has been consolidated into two small strips directly above my eyes.
Efficiency.
Maybe this is why Airica thought I had an "interesting look."
She didn't swipe on me.
The eyebrows matched hers.
I'm just their transportation.
Do I Need Threading?
Now I'm starting to wonder whether I need to try one of those eyebrow-threading places.
I've seen them.
Someone takes a piece of thread and somehow uses it to rip hair out of your face.
This sounds exactly like the type of activity a man with my medical history should voluntarily add to his schedule.
Dialysis Monday.
Eyebrow torture Tuesday.
Dialysis Wednesday.
Recover from eyebrows Thursday.
Dialysis Friday.
Dating Saturday.
Seems reasonable.
The problem is that I know myself.
I'll walk in and say:
"Just clean them up a little."
Then I'll open my eyes and discover that I've gone from Ming the Merciless to Whoopi Goldberg.
No eyebrows.
Nothing.
Just forehead transitioning directly into eyeballs.
So, About That Follow-Up...
I guess I don't have to figure out whether I should wait three days.
Airica texted me.
She said good morning.
We survived the first date.
She survived my driving.
She survived my near fall at The Grand.
She survived four hours with me.
She made it home with all of her organs.
And the next morning, she still wanted to say hello.
I'll take that as a positive sign.
Does that mean there's going to be a second date?
I still don't know.
I'm new at this.
Maybe I still have to audition.
Maybe I'm waiting for the callback.
But compared with where The Hinge Experiment was a few weeks ago—zero matches, zero conversations, and Steve the Iguana preparing to become my permanent companion—I'd say we're making progress.
And if there is a second date, I may arrive with slightly more aerodynamic eyebrows.
Or I may leave them exactly as they are.
After all…
She swiped right on the eyebrows she saw.
No sense engaging in false advertising now.
But if the next picture you see of me has absolutely no eyebrows whatsoever, you'll know what happened.
Airica started it.
Day 111: Nextdoor Congratulates Elisa Steele on Governance Excellence. I Have a Governance Question.
Today I saw a Nextdoor post congratulating Elisa Steele on being named to the 2026 NACD Directorship 100 by the National Association of Corporate Directors.
My first reaction was: Congratulations.
My second reaction was: What exactly does someone have to do to make the NACD Directorship 100?
So, naturally, I looked it up.
And this is where things got interesting.
First, Credit to NACD: They Actually Show Their Work
One thing immediately stood out.
While I keep asking how Nextdoor selects its Good Neighbor Award recipients, NACD publishes substantial information about what the award represents, its criteria, and its selection process.
The 2026 Directorship 100 recognizes 100 directors and governance professionals who, according to NACD, exemplify the knowledge, leadership, and excellence it promotes. Elisa Steele is indeed listed among the 2026 director honorees.
Even better, NACD publishes a nomination guide.
Imagine that.
Criteria. In writing. Available to the public.
As someone who has repeatedly asked Nextdoor for greater transparency around its own awards and research, I appreciate being able to see how the sausage is made.
Read NACD's 2026 nomination criteria.
Then I Read the Criteria
This is where my eyebrows went up.
For directors, NACD looks for recent board-level contributions that materially strengthen governance oversight, strategy, or organizational resilience. It also evaluates governance influence, modernization, ethical leadership, judgment, and credibility.
Among the examples NACD provides are directors who demonstrate:
“courage and leadership under duress”
while doing what's best for the corporation and shareholders when facing pressures inside or outside the boardroom.
There's more.
NACD points to directors who contribute to consistent long-term profitability, pursue important business opportunities, improve shareholder returns, or navigate crises and major changes effectively.
And then there's this one:
“Valuing board and team performance over individual performance, keeping ego in check.”
Oh boy.
You knew where I was going with this.
😂
Elisa, I Think We Need to Talk About Nirav
Here's why this caught my attention.
Elisa isn't just someone on Nextdoor's board.
Nextdoor's own governance page currently identifies her as its Lead Independent Director. She also serves on the Audit and Risk Committee and chairs the Nominating, Corporate Governance and Corporate Responsibility Committee.
In other words:
Governance is quite literally part of the job.
That's why I'm having difficulty separating this recognition from the case study I've now been documenting for 111 days.
For months, I've been asking questions about Nextdoor.
I've questioned research transparency.
I've questioned communication.
I've questioned the company's Good Neighbor Award selection process.
I've questioned how Nextdoor responds to feedback.
I've questioned whether neighbors should participate economically when their information and contributions become valuable commercial assets.
I’ve repeatedly offered to have a conversation rather than keep typing about it.
Then Nextdoor CEO Nirav Tolia blocked me on X.
Again.
Let Me Be Fair About the Block
Nirav is entitled to block me.
Being CEO of a public company doesn't mean he has to follow me, answer every post I make, or spend Saturday night debating a shareholder on social media.
I also cannot tell you why he blocked me.
Only Nirav knows that.
So I'm not going to say he blocked me because he “felt pressure.” I can't know that.
I can discuss what leadership should look like when pressure, criticism, or uncomfortable questions arrive.
And, conveniently, NACD just gave me some vocabulary.
Courage under duress.
Doing what's best for the corporation and its shareholders despite pressure.
Keeping ego in check.
Those aren't my standards.
Those are examples contained in NACD's 2026 director nomination criteria.
Elisa, Here's My Challenge
Congratulations on the recognition.
Seriously.
NACD says its Directorship 100 is intended to recognize people shaping the boardroom agenda and demonstrating governance leadership. Being selected is something worth celebrating.
But recognition also creates an opportunity.
Use it.
Have a conversation with Nirav.
Not specifically because I'm special. I'm not.
And not because a CEO must personally respond to every shareholder complaint.
But because how leadership responds to uncomfortable feedback is a governance question.
If the CEO disagrees with someone, disagree.
If the criticism is wrong, explain why it's wrong.
If a question belongs with another executive, delegate it.
If information won’t be provided, say so.
If someone becomes abusive, threatening, or crosses a reasonable boundary, absolutely establish boundaries.
But when the issue is simply persistent questioning, I'd much rather see leadership demonstrate the kind of confidence that says:
Ask the question. Let's deal with it.
That's leadership I can respect even when the answer isn't the one I wanted.
Governance Isn't Just What Happens at a Board Meeting
This may be the biggest lesson I took from reading NACD's criteria.
Governance isn't simply approving minutes, sitting on committees, and attending quarterly meetings.
NACD's criteria cover oversight, resilience, emerging risks, executive compensation, CEO succession, board culture, strategic transformation, shareholder returns, and decision-making.
It even talks about directors demonstrating courage when pressures exist outside the boardroom.
That's important.
Because customers, neighbors, and shareholders aren't sitting inside the boardroom.
We're outside it.
Sometimes we're the pressure.
Sometimes we're annoying.
Sometimes we're wrong.
Sometimes we identify something worth examining.
A strong governance structure should be able to figure out which is which.
And This Is Why I Like Published Criteria
There's also a lesson here for Nextdoor's Good Neighbor Awards.
I can look at NACD's website and see what the organization says it values.
I can read its nomination criteria.
I can understand eligibility.
I want to learn about how candidates are evaluated.
NACD says candidates are vetted and scored using qualitative and quantitative criteria, escalated through senior leadership, and selected honorees ultimately go to the NACD board for final review.
That doesn't mean I know everything about every selection.
I don't.
But transparency gives me something to evaluate the process against.
That's precisely why I've asked Nextdoor to provide greater transparency around its own Good Neighbor Awards.
Don't just tell me the winners are wonderful people.
Show me the process.
NACD does.
Congratulations, Elisa. Now Comes the Fun Part.
So I'll finish where I started.
Congratulations to Elisa Steele.
Being included in the NACD Directorship 100 is a significant professional recognition.
But after reading NACD's own criteria, I don't think the appropriate shareholder response is merely applause.
It's also accountability.
NACD talks about courage.
It talks about leadership under pressure.
It talks about shareholders.
It talks about governance credibility.
It talks about keeping ego in check.
Those are excellent standards.
Let's apply them.
Elisa, have the conversation with Nirav.
Encourage a leadership culture that doesn't shy away from uncomfortable questions.
Encourage people inside Nextdoor to answer them—even when the answer is no.
Please let the CEO know that when a shareholder with too much time on his hands keeps asking questions, the block button doesn't make them disappear.
😂
Because after 111 days, I'm still here.
I'm still a shareholder.
I still want Nextdoor to succeed.
And I'm still asking questions.
Congratulations on the governance award.
Now let's see the governance.
👉 NielFlamm.com/blog
A New Scam Tactic Made Me Do a Double Take: “Walmart Order password88458”
When I thought my inbox scammers had settled into a comfortable routine of fake PayPal charges, Geek Squad subscriptions, and invitations to give away hundreds of dollars, somebody apparently decided the script needed an update.
This one actually made me do a double take.
The subject line reads:
“Walmart Order password88458”
Password?
Wait.
Did I ask for my Walmart password to be reset?
No.
And that tiny moment of uncertainty is exactly what caught my attention.
This One Feels Different
Most of the scam emails I've been receiving practically announce themselves.
YOU SPENT $499.99!
YOUR GEEK SQUAD SUBSCRIPTION RENEWED!
CALL THIS NUMBER IMMEDIATELY!
They want panic.
This one is quieter.
The email body has no real message. Instead, it has two attachments: an HTML file and what looks like an invoice.
The sender shown is:
Yet the subject references Walmart.
That's enough for me to stop.
If this is supposedly about my Walmart account, why is the message coming from a completely unrelated domain?
And why would I need to open attachments to figure out what's happening with my password?
No thanks.
The “Password” Word Almost Worked
That's what I find interesting about this one.
I saw “password” and instinctively wondered whether I'd requested a password reset.
For a moment, the message made me question my own memory.
That's potentially much more effective than another ridiculous $499.99 invoice.
People reset passwords all the time. Sometimes we forget that we requested one. Sometimes an app logs us out. Sometimes we get legitimate security alerts when someone attempts to access an account.
So seeing Walmart + Order + Password mashed together in a subject line can create just enough confusion to make someone investigate.
And investigating might mean opening one of those attachments.
That's where I stop.
Two Attachments? I'm Good.
One attachment ends in .htm.
That's an HTML file—a webpage packaged as a file.
Opening an unexpected HTML attachment can potentially take someone into a fake login or other deceptive content designed to look legitimate. I'm not opening it to find out what this particular one does.
The second attachment appears to be an invoice.
I'm not opening that one either, thank you.
If Walmart needs me to take action on my account, I don't need an attachment from solodax.com to proceed.
I can independently open the Walmart app or type the legitimate Walmart website into my browser and check my account there.
The suspicious email doesn't give me a roadmap for how to investigate it.
This Is Why I Keep Sharing These
Scams don't always look like:
“HELLO DEAR SIR, YOU HAVE WON $47 MILLION.”
Sometimes they're messy.
Sometimes they're polished.
Sometimes they use familiar company names.
And sometimes all they need is one word—like password—to make me stop and wonder:
“Wait...did I do something?”
I did the double take.
Then I looked at the sender.
Then I looked at the attachments.
And I remembered:
I didn't request a password reset.
Mystery solved.
No attachments opened.
No links clicked.
No passwords entered.
And, for once, Bill apparently had the day off.
Send Me Your Scam Attempts
I'm still documenting the different tactics that land in my inbox because seeing real examples can make the next suspicious message easier to recognize.
If you've received an unusual scam email, phishing attempt, fake invoice, suspicious password-reset message, or another creative attempt to get your information, send me a screenshot and your experience:
First, remove or cover any sensitive personal, financial, or account information.
The scammers changed tactics.
So I'll keep paying attention.
If I didn't request a password reset, I won’t open an attachment to understand why someone believes I did.
The Hinge Experiment: Four Hours, 250 Miles, Brussels Sprouts and a Mug
Well, it happened.
After all the matches that went nowhere, conversations that disappeared, unanswered messages, unmatches, an empty Hinge inbox, jokes about deleting the app, and Steve the Iguana patiently waiting for me to abandon dating altogether…
I went on an actual first date.
With Airica.
And I have some numbers.
Four hours.
About 250 miles of driving.
Brussels sprouts.
A half-and-half—which I learned is half sweet tea and half unsweetened tea. I thought Airica was getting an Arnold Palmer.
Shrimp & grits.
A ribeye, medium-well.
A walk for candy.
Some laughs.
Some transparency.
More laughs.
And…
A mug.
Yes, a mug.
And somehow, that mug feels like a significant development in The Hinge Experiment™.
My First First Date With a Parting Gift
This may have been the first first date where I left with something other than a broken heart, cash out of pocket to help someone pay her rent, or an overwhelming need to review some of my life decisions.
This time?
I left with a mug, a full belly, and a smile on my face.
Progress!
Before the Date, I Tried to Get Us on Dateline
Full transparency.
Yesterday morning, before Airica and I had ever actually met in person, I asked her if she wanted to take a drive with me to Tampa Bay to watch the Yankees play.
There were tickets available.
I didn't want to go alone.
Seemed perfectly reasonable to me.
Apparently, from the perspective of a woman who has never met this man before, getting into his car for at least seven hours is a slightly different proposition.
She was confused.
Concerned.
Cautious.
She may have considered that accepting this invitation could eventually land her on an episode of Dateline.
I get it.
Although, come on.
A bald dude with one leg, failing kidneys, and eyes that don't work particularly well?
I'd be skeptical, too.
Maybe the real concern should have been whether I'd wake up in a bathtub full of ice with a bunch of stitches and discover that the few functioning organs I have left had been harvested.
There isn't much good inventory here, Airica.
Either way, Tampa was wisely removed from the agenda.
We decided to start with lunch.
She Still Didn't Tell Me Where She Lives
I arrived at our meeting location in Columbia.
And no, at this point I apparently had not yet achieved "You May Know Where I Live" status.
Also understandable.
I did, however, get a nice hug.
I'll take it.
Then we headed into downtown Columbia.
I've been around there before because of a failed job interview.
See? Everything happens for a reason.
I didn't get the job, but years later I knew how to get downtown for a Hinge date.
Career development.
Airica picked The Grand, and it turned out to be a great choice.
The food was awesome, the place had a nice feel, and the company was fantastic.
There was only one problem.
I couldn't see a darn thing.
Nothing Says "Smooth" Like Almost Falling on Your Butt
The Grand was dimly lit.
Maybe romantically lit.
With my eyesight?
Basically a cave.
They showed us to a nice, almost circular booth.
I went to sit down.
I misjudged exactly where the seat was.
And for one brief, beautiful moment, gravity attempted to bring me as close to the floor as physically possible.
Now, over the years, I’ve wondered what makes a man appear smooth and confident on a first date.
Apparently it's almost completely missing the point.
Ladies, try to control yourselves.
Somehow, I recovered.
Physically, at least.
In my head?
I'm burnt toast.
Date over.
Thank you for playing.
Please collect your complimentary mug on the way out.
Except…
It wasn't.
Then We Just Talked
We ordered food.
Brussels sprouts.
Shrimp & grits.
A ribeye cooked medium-well.
And the mysterious half & half.
When Airica ordered it, I thought she meant an Arnold Palmer.
Nope.
Half sweet tea.
Half unsweetened tea.
I learned something new.
More importantly, we talked.
And talked.
And talked.
There really wasn't an awkward silence.
Well, except when we were actually eating, which I think is acceptable first-date behavior.
I assume.
I don't really know what people are supposed to talk about on first dates because I haven't had many of these recently.
But we figured it out.
If we're being statistically accurate, Airica probably did about 60% of the talking.
Which means I did 40%.
Yes, I know.
For anyone who knows me, that may be the most unbelievable part of this entire story.
I Got to Know Airica
I learned a lot.
I learned about what Airica wants to be when she grows up.
I learned about her passions.
I learned more about her life and why she is where she is.
And by "where she is," I mean Columbia, South Carolina.
Because obviously Columbia is the hippest place in the entire universe.
Why wouldn't someone want to be there?
The more we talked, the more things we seemed to have in common.
Of course, there are some important differences.
She's female.
She has two functioning kidneys.
She has a full head of hair.
Show-off.
But we both have bad eyesight.
CHECK!
Finally, common ground.
Then She Yawned
Airica had already had a longer-than-normal day, and eventually I caught a few yawns.
Message received.
I told her it was time to get her back.
Preferably with all of her original body parts still attached so she could report to everyone that she had survived her encounter with the one-legged Hinge guy.
But she wasn't ready to leave.
She wanted candy.
Wait. What?
The date continues?
Apparently I hadn't completely screwed this up.
The 200-Foot Second Act
We walked about 200 feet to a general store that smelled like leather and sandalwood.
We bought candy.
I went with saltwater taffy.
Airica selected an assortment of gummy concoctions.
Nothing extravagant.
Nothing complicated.
Just walking around, getting candy and continuing the conversation.
And I liked that.
Eventually, we made our way back to her car.
There was a great hug.
A kiss on the cheek.
And then I started the long drive home.
And Then My Phone Started Getting Updates
On the drive back, I heard from her.
She updated me that she hadn't taken a nap.
She asked how far away I was.
And apparently…
I may be getting a Boo Basket.
I don't know exactly where a Boo Basket ranks in the traditional progression of modern courtship, but I'm assuming it's somewhere between:
"I don't hate you"
and
"You may eventually be permitted to know where I live."
I'll take it.
I also let her know that I opened the gift she'd given me.
The mug.
And yes, Airica knows I'm writing this.
See?
I'm learning.
So… Will There Be a Second Date?
That's the question.
I heard on the TikkyTokky that a first date is basically an audition to see whether you get a second date.
If that's true, my audition included nearly falling onto the floor, misunderstanding a tea order, discussing my collection of medical problems, and making jokes about organ harvesting.
Strong performance.
But here's what I know.
I drove roughly 250 miles.
We spent about four hours together.
There was good food.
There was candy.
There were serious conversations.
There was transparency.
There were laughs.
There were more laughs.
There wasn't that uncomfortable feeling of trying to manufacture conversation.
And when I got back into my car, I was smiling.
That's enough for today.
I'm glad we met.
I'm glad she didn't take me up on Tampa for our first meeting.
I'm glad neither of us ended up on Dateline.
And I'm particularly glad that after everything I've written about dating over the past few months, I finally got to write this:
The Hinge Experiment produced an actual date.
A good one.
Now I wait.
Will there be a second?
Will I get the callback?
Will there really be a Boo Basket?
Will I eventually reach the coveted "You Can Know Where I Live" level?
I have no idea.
But for the first time in this experiment, I don't need to make a joke about an empty Hinge inbox.
I left with a mug, a full belly, and a smile on my face.
I'd say that's a pretty damn good first date.
Stay tuned.
Steve the Iguana may need to cancel his plans.