Candidate # 11 - Scott the Student
Having been lured into the den of three overgrown adolescent boys, Sarah and I have gone right off the idea of finding a donor on the internet.
Scott looked alright on paper, he was a medical student in his final year, owned a flat in central London, was left wing and was completely free of hereditary disorders. He also sounded perfectly respectable on the phone, if not a little pretentious. Sarah was concerned that he might be a little arrogant like Doctor Dave but I persuaded her to let me meet him for lunch to check him out.
Ideally, I like to meet potential donors somewhere public, particularly those I've met online but Scott kept insisting that cafes near his flat were overcrowded at lunch times and told me that he was too busy with work to travel further a field. Foolishly I let myself be talked into meeting at his flat.
I was surprised when he came to the door only half-dressed, particularly as he had been expecting me and I was a good five minutes late. Still, he apologised and guided me into the living room while he went to find a shirt to put on.
"Is it true then?" a voice came from what I assume was the kitchen. I stood up and was faced with not just one, but two lazily-dressed, male students. When I say lazily-dressed, I don't mean casual, I mean unwashed and grubby.
"Is what true?"
"Are you a lesbian?" he said with a menacing wink.
"I think I'm going to just sit down and wait for Scott." I said, finding a spot on the sofa between a box set of Peep Show and an empty pizza box.
The two boys flopped onto the couch either side of me, really cramping my personal space. "So you are a lesbian then?" one of them asked again. I looked at my watch, willing Scott to appear and take me somewhere away from these irritating people.
"Not very talkative are you?" observed one of them, cleverly.
Finally Scott reappeared, fully dressed. "Sorry about those two." He said and they backed away from me a little. I smiled a little, perhaps I'd been unkind to judge them too quickly. Then Scott spoke again, with a broad grin, "So, what's it like being a lesbian?"
"Oh for heaven's sake!" I cried, rose and bolted for the door.
The last words I heard were, "You're not staying then?"
Scott looked alright on paper, he was a medical student in his final year, owned a flat in central London, was left wing and was completely free of hereditary disorders. He also sounded perfectly respectable on the phone, if not a little pretentious. Sarah was concerned that he might be a little arrogant like Doctor Dave but I persuaded her to let me meet him for lunch to check him out.
Ideally, I like to meet potential donors somewhere public, particularly those I've met online but Scott kept insisting that cafes near his flat were overcrowded at lunch times and told me that he was too busy with work to travel further a field. Foolishly I let myself be talked into meeting at his flat.
I was surprised when he came to the door only half-dressed, particularly as he had been expecting me and I was a good five minutes late. Still, he apologised and guided me into the living room while he went to find a shirt to put on.
"Is it true then?" a voice came from what I assume was the kitchen. I stood up and was faced with not just one, but two lazily-dressed, male students. When I say lazily-dressed, I don't mean casual, I mean unwashed and grubby.
"Is what true?"
"Are you a lesbian?" he said with a menacing wink.
"I think I'm going to just sit down and wait for Scott." I said, finding a spot on the sofa between a box set of Peep Show and an empty pizza box.
The two boys flopped onto the couch either side of me, really cramping my personal space. "So you are a lesbian then?" one of them asked again. I looked at my watch, willing Scott to appear and take me somewhere away from these irritating people.
"Not very talkative are you?" observed one of them, cleverly.
Finally Scott reappeared, fully dressed. "Sorry about those two." He said and they backed away from me a little. I smiled a little, perhaps I'd been unkind to judge them too quickly. Then Scott spoke again, with a broad grin, "So, what's it like being a lesbian?"
"Oh for heaven's sake!" I cried, rose and bolted for the door.
The last words I heard were, "You're not staying then?"
Pros: Sounded great by email.
Cons: In reality he was an overgrown fourteen year old boy.
Verdict: Unsuitable.
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