Post traumatic stress disorder is not a joke, folks! So: "Jessica" went out for a first date last night. Nervous, she waited at the bar with two of her female friends till he arrived. Wrong move! As soon as she said goodbye to them, he was...out the door. She received the following email this morning. It not the crappiest email, but it is remarkable in its aggressive meanness. Quantico, so you know, is a military base in Virginia, and their appointed meeting spot was Washington, D.C. She could, to be sure, have arranged to meet him closer to his work, like at the nearby outlet mall! But would that have been enough to please this PTSD case? Sigh. A Crap Email from yet another specimen of collateral damage of this pointless war, after the jump.

I'm definitely not interested in trying to meet up again, especially since you succeeded in making a pretty bad first impression. I'm not fishing for sympathy here, but I do commute to Quantico everyday. I agreed to meet you in the city and even told you when I could make it by 6:15 (which I had to slightly hustle to do so). So I find it kind of laughable (considering I told you when I could be there) that you couldn't be by yourself or find something else to do for 30-45 minutes until I got there. There's always some inherent awkwardness in meeting people face-to-face for the first time on match, and then you're like, "Oh do you want to come over and sit with 2 other people you don't know either, as well?" Thanks for wasting my time. It's even more ridiculous that you e-mailed me this morning. I guess the fact that I slipped out the back door almost immediately last night didn't speak for itself! So have you learned anything yet? (and when I pose that question, it's for you to answer to yourself and in no way does it mean e-mail me again)

Photo is Walter Rollo Smith, because I try to be uplifting.