Monday, July 5, 2010

55. Date Fail Pt. 2

I decided I wouldn't waste my money getting a cab until after he fed me. After that torturous car ride, I deserved a home-cooked meal. I'd always imagined the first time a man cooked me dinner he'd pour me a glass of wine first, and we'd chat and laugh while he cooked.

Instead, I sat on the lumpy couch and stared at the TV for two hours while he banged away in the kitchen. For a two-hour prep time, I was hoping for a feast. Instead, when he finally emerged, he held what looked like the Fettuccini and Broccoli Lean Cuisine I'd had for lunch earlier that week. I was half-convinced he'd just been in there staring at himself in a floor-to-ceiling mirror for two hours and then banged pots and pans together to hide the microwave beeping. It was almost 10 pm, and I'd considered searching the seat cushions for an old Cheeto (they're best when they're stale) or maybe a popcorn kernal.

Who asks a girl on a dinner date and then doesn't let her eat for HOURS? Suddenly his half-Colombian, half-black sex appeal had completely disappeared. Where was that sexy fireman from the street?

I devoured my plate of over-cooked noodles with room-temperature sauce, NOT because it tasted good, but because I was starving, and thought that maybe if I ate enough I'd turn him off. I was sure I could muster up a huge belch if that wasn't the case.

"I need to be back in Manhattan before midnight because I promised my friend I'd go out for her birthday," I said as I finished my second plate of mush.

Truth was, it was actually Maleah's friend, but I didn't care. I'd rather buy a random girl 24 birthday shots than let Jason think I had any intention of staying over.

"Really? So soon? I picked out a movie."

Hey boys, we all know that "watch a movie" actually means "let's turn off all the lights and let me grope you while you pretend to watch this awful B-rate horror movie. Oh, and then I'm going to suck your face."

The thought of that made my noodles fight their way back up my throat. Oh, good. I could puke on him, and then surely he'd take me home. No, knowing this guy, that wouldn't stop him.

"Well, maybe you should have let me watch it while you cooked. But now it's late and I have to get back to Manhattan."

"Oh, just stay for the movie and I'll take you right home. It will be over before midnight."

Something told me this was the only way I was going to get a free ride home. I could still call a cab, but I didn't want to come home with a shitty-date story AND a $30 cab receipt.

He chose the movie Shutter. If you've ever seen this movie, I'm sorry, and if you haven't, DON'T. I sat straight up and stiff, with my arms crossed over my chest. I'd taken a nonverbal communication class in college, and I was about to put that A to good use.

At the first "scary" part, he screamed and grabbed my hand.


One of my number one turn-offs is for a guy to play the girl role. Don't scream like a girl. Don't snuggle on me. Just don't be a little bitch. Is that too much to ask? One time back in college, I woke up after one of my few sleepovers with Brady and saw him cuddled on my naked chest while I lied on my back with my arm around him. I felt like a dude. He woke up, looked up at me, and said, "Wow, I feel like a bitch." It was hysterical, and we laughed about it, but at least he didn't mean to do it.

I didn't hold Jason's hand back. I kept it stiff and scooted over as much on the couch as possible.

At the next scary part, he hid his face in my shoulder.

Oh, someone kill me.

By midnight the movie ended, and he agreed to take me back to Manhattan. Back in the car, he continued with his all-about-Jason rants.

"Yeah, most of the time girls only like me because of my job or my car."

"Well, maybe that's because that's all you have to offer."

I thought I'd get a reaction from that. Even if it was just a laugh because he thought I was just being sarcastic. But nothing. He went right on talking as if I hadn't said anything. As if I weren't there. I could bang my head against the glass window over and over again and he wouldn't notice until it shattered, at which point he'd bitch about how I'd destroyed his pride and joy.

"Oh look at that broke-ass fucker. He's pulled over on the side of the road because he ran out of gas. Can you believe that? He spent all that money on that car and he can't even afford to fill it up."

I turned to him and said, "Really? That's the conclusion you jump to? Not that maybe he got stuck in traffic? Or maybe didn't realize he was on empty?"

There was no convincing him otherwise.

I took to not talking. I laid my head back on the seat, closed my eyes, and swore to myself I'd never date another fireman.

When I opened my eyes, he was parking the Escalade on a street that didn't look familiar.

"Umm, where are we?"

"I told you, this is my friend's bar. He's bartending, so he'll hook us up with a free drink."

"I told you I have somewhere to be."

"We're in Manhattan, and it's barely after midnight. Just one drink."

I was going to need something strong.

There was one seat open at the bar, and Jason plopped himself down in it. I lingered behind the barstools and pulled up Hopstop on my phone to try to figure out an escape route back to my place. We weren't too far from my apartment. I was new to the city, but I could figure this out.

The man next to Jason tapped him on the shoulder. Jason ignored him. He tapped again. Jason looked the other way. The man turned toward me and said, "Do you want my seat?"

"Oh, no, but thanks so much for the offer. I'm not staying."

As I chugged my Cape Cod a few minutes later, Jason turned to me and said, "Did you see that guy try to hit on me earlier?"

That was it. I'd had it.

"Are you out of your fucking mind? He was asking you if he should get up so I could sit down. You are the most negative asshole I've ever met in my entire life. You think the worst of everyone but you want everyone to think the best of you. Quit bragging about your lame-ass job and your fancy car and grow the fuck up. I'm out."

I chugged the rest of my drink in two seconds, slammed my glass down on the bar, and got the hell out of there.

And that, my friends, is the absolute worst date I've ever been on.


  1. Wow, you have the patience of a saint! I totally would have coughed up the money for a cab! I bet after you left, he didn't even compute what you'd said. What a doofus!

  2. Carolina- In hindsight, yes, I wish I had just coughed up the money and got the hell outta there. But then I wouldn't have had such a god-awful story to share with you.