Speed Dating Round #7

You think at first that you’ve misheard him. Either that or the past half hour you’ve spent awkwardly conversing with random strangers has left you incapable of comprehending spoken words correctly. “Sorry, what is it that you do for work?”

“I’m the new Dead Armadillo Distributor for Shawnee County. It’s exactly what it says on the tin.” He chuckles nervously. “What do you do for work?”

It’s not that you want to ignore his question– it’s more that his answer has superseded every thought you have, including your own career. “What’s a Dead Armadillo Distributor?”

His smile is pained. “I distribute dead armadillos. You know how you see dead armadillos on the side of the road when you drive on the highway? I’m the guy who puts them there.” He sounds practiced, like this is a conversation he’s had innumerable times– probably at least six times today, you suppose. “Like a paperboy. But with dead armadillos.”

“You mean– like roadkill?”

“Well, sure, the majority are roadkill. That’s just not the road they were killed on.” He fidgets with his hands above the table, scratching his fingernail on the case of the fake candle in the middle of the table without looking at it. You doubt he even notices what he’s doing– maybe he’s nervous. You were nervous for the first few rounds too– now, however, the bafflement is far more prevalent.

“So you just bicycle down the highway and throw dead armadillos on the shoulder?”

“W- No, that’d be ridiculous. I have a truck.”

“Oh, silly me.”

If he picks up on your sarcasm, he doesn’t react to it. “So, yeah, I throw them out onto the shoulder from my truck. Normal, normal job, nothing to write home about. What do you do?”

“Where do you get the armadillos?”

He purses his lips– maybe he’s getting annoyed at you. It seems unwarranted. Nothing about that was a normal job and you’re going to be writing– no, calling your sister about it the minute you leave the venue. “Texas mostly. I used to be Dead Armadillo Transport– the guy who went and got them, basically– and it was someone else that distributed them, but I got a promotion last month. That’s why I’m here, honestly– now that I’m not on the road as much, my brother thought it would be a good idea to get back out there, dating wise. So, here I am!” He gives you a lopsided smile. 

He’s objectively cute– like, really cute– and if the subject were anything else you would recognize that he’s nervous and you’d move on with the conversation. 

“But why?”

“Well, when I was driving back and forth from Texas all the time–”

“No, why do you port in dead armadillos from Texas?”

He squints at me like I’m crazy. “Where else would I get them?”

“From here?”

“There aren’t any dead armadillos in Kansas.”

“Well, what about alive armadillos that you could… you know, make dead?”

The look he gives you is incredulous, barely softened by his long, framing eyelashes. 

“Not that I think you should, you know, kill armadillos! Armadillos are, they’re great,” you backtrack, before halting. You’re not the crazy one here. “But if you could get dead armadillos without having to drive all the way to Texas, wouldn’t that be better? Less driving, I don’t know. Less time. More efficient.” 

“Well, yeah,” he concedes. “But that’s almost impossible. Oklahoma has pretty strict laws regarding the transport of dead armadillos. Texas doesn’t care about what we port out of it at all.” He rolls his eyes. “I mean, it’s good for our business, but I do wish they were a little more worried about their ecosystem sometimes. They’ve got lots of vultures down there, and I feel kinda bad sometimes about taking so much carrion from, like, a single place.”

He seems somewhat environmentally conscious, at least. And you got the feeling some of the men you’ve spoken to today couldn’t even define the word ‘ecosystem,’ so that’s another point for him, even if you do still have many questions regarding his occupation. “But why can’t you just get the dead armadillos from Kansas?”

“There aren’t any dead armadillos in Kansas,” he repeats. 

“But I mean, surely there are.”

“Think about it,” he says. He seems a little more confident now– probably because you’re talking about a subject he knows a lot about. “Have you ever seen an armadillo just walking around in Kansas?”

“Well, no, but I’ve seen–” 

You cut yourself off before you can finish. You have seen armadillos in Kansas. On the side of the road. Dead. 

“So how do you… how do you get into the dead armadillo business?”

“They actually had a booth at one of the job fairs they made me go to as a senior in high school. Seemed easy at the time– I wasn’t the best student back then.” 

He gives you another crooked smile. It is rather endearing. And you have more questions, a million more questions, but the point of speed dating is the speed, so you’ll be generous and drop it for now. 

“To answer your question from earlier, I work at the bank. Pretty standard job. You said you have a brother?”

“Yeah, he’s a lot older– eleven years. Kind of over-protective, but that’s okay.”

“Are you the youngest?” 

“It’s just the two of us, so–”

Before he can finish, the administrator of the event loudly clangs the bell and you both jump. It’s time to move onto the next speed date, and for the first time, you’re not ready to stop talking to your speed date.

He sticks out his hand and you shake it. 

“Sorry I kind of monopolized the conversation there.”

“No, I kept asking you questions about it.” 

If you’re not mistaken, he also seems a little sad to see you go.

“Maybe if we see each other again, I could tell you about my twin sister?”

His smile isn’t crooked this time, it’s bright and incredibly cute. “If we see each other again?”

You shrug, but make sure to smile and make eye-contact, just like you practiced. “Maybe.”

You both fill out your score cards in relative silence and then he moves to the next table. The bell clangs again, and the new man sitting across from you holds out his hand. 

“Hi, I’m Dale. So, what do you do for work?”