Living Just Enough for the City

When I lived in New York City, I actively dated on Match.com. My Very Worst Date happened when I met a guy at a Union Square restaurant. I walked in and saw a guy sitting at a table looking around, but he was clearly 10 years older than the photo he’d posted online. His hair was also much thinner, but I decided to give it a shot anyway and introduced myself.  The waitress came right over and asked if we would like anything to drink.

"No, we don't want any cocktails," he said rather curtly. 

I let it slide because I thought he might be an alcoholic for a second. Still I was annoyed that he spoke for me.

"Well, can I order a soda then?" I asked.

"Do you have to?"

I was turned off by his cheapskate ways but I still tried to enjoy the rest of the meal since he seemed fairly charming otherwise. After dinner, we stepped out of the restaurant into a rainy, rainy night. Since we were both headed to the Lower East Side, I suggested we share a taxi.

"Do you have your Metrocard with you?" he asked. "Because we're taking the bus."

I had one in my back pocket, but I was shocked that in the cold rain he would want to wait for a bus just to save a couple of bucks.

"And is it one of the unlimited ones because I forgot mine?" he added.

I gave him the card, which had four bucks left on it, and I hopped in a cab to meet my girlfriends.

Chicago with a Side of Whopper and Fries

My first mistake was allowing my parents to set me up on a blind date. The guy picked me up and informed me that we were going to a Chicago concert. I was not that keen on the band but it was a free concert and we had great seats. 

It turned out to be a total bust. My boy sat there not clapping, not singing (who doesn't know the words to Hard to Say to I'm Sorry?) and definitely not moving, never mind swaying or dancing. 

On the way home, he told me he wanted to grab food and drove up to a Burger King drive-thru. At this point, I was shocked to silence. He ordered his food and then casually asked me if I was hungry. I told him I was "fine." After getting his meal, he drove to his house, got out of the car and made his way inside. I had no choice but to follow him. 

He finally wolfed down the Whopper and fries and offered to take me home if I wanted him to. Um yeah! At my front door, he asked me if I wanted to go out again next weekend. I told him no, I didn't want to ever go out with him again. 

I heard through the grapevine that he's now married. I wonder how often he and the wife eat at Burger King...

Un-Date Action

While I was grabbing coffee before class, a cute enough, well built guy came up to me. We chatted a little and I gave him my number. He seemed normal enough. He called and we organized to meet up at the grad students' lounge and head to a party the following Wednesday. I don't like house parties but I figured I'd try to be open minded. And birthday parties are always kind of festive, right? 

When I arrived at the lounge, he was sitting by the fire. Half asleep. Lovely. He woke up and proceeded to pound three beers (to my one glass of white wine) and then insisted we do Jager Bombs. Then he began a monologue about industrial music. For the record, I am a slummy hipster. I don't like industrial.

After texting incessantly while we sat there for about an hour, he announced that we had to leave for the party NOW. We rushed into a cab and headed off. He stopped at a liquor store, and asked me to pitch in for booze because he was "broke." Perfect. Then, after some detours, we finally found the house (he'd copied the address down wrong). At that point, he realized he did not have enough money to pay for the cab. 

I paid and tried to remain optimistic. I realized that we were in an icky part of town that I did not know well but still I was ready to party. We entered the house and there were a grand total of four people there. They were trashed and wanted snacks. So my "date" and the two girls left for the store, leaving me there with the host, who regaled me with tales of his recovery from meth addiction and his former penchant for visiting prostitutes. 

When the others got back, I escaped to the restroom and texted eight different friends telling them to call me and pretend to be my roommate. My friend A graciously obliged and informed me that our pipes had burst. You see, since she was not good in a crisis, I had to go to her. I got in a cab and got the hell out.

But before I did that my companion for the evening walked me out to the cab. 

"Is this a date?" he asked.

"No, it's not," I replied affirmatively.

He proceeded to assure me that he would call again. 

My response? 

"I wouldn't."

Hole in None

Very shortly after my 17th birthday I had my first real date ever: putt-putting with a boy I’d met from another high school. His mother and her boyfriend came to pick us up, but when we got to the mini-golf, they made it clear they weren’t going anywhere. So my first date, ever, was a double-date with my date’s mother and her boyfriend. Apparently, she didn’t trust her son to behave himself alone with a girl. Once we started to play I accidentally hit my date in the knee once with the ball, and once right in the gonads with the club on a mis-aimed backswing. Then we went to an adjacent restaurant for the standard burgers and fries fare. The thing was, the boy I was with didn’t have enough money to pay for his own food, much less mine. And his mother wouldn’t give him any. I wound up paying for the two of us, even though he’d been the one to ask me out. I naively kept dating him that summer, but before September I dumped him. He called my house two weeks later; my mother told him I wasn’t home. He told her he’d accidentally cut off a finger in woodshop class.

Last Night The DJ Saved

I had fancied this really hot, hipster DJ who played at a bar in downtown New York for ages. We were friends of friends and had spent months outrageously flirting with each other. Finally, one night at the said bar, he grabbed me and asked me to come home with him. 

Since he lived in deepest Brooklyn, I invited him to my place instead as I lived just over the bridge in Williamsburg. I suggested we get a cab back there but his option was the train. I offered to pay the fare (about $15) but he countered by saying that the subway would be "more fun."

Unfortunately for our night of passion, the L train was running on a shorter route so we had to get off and take a shuttle bus to my usual stop. A journey that should have taken 20 minutes max prolonged into a one and a half hour voyage during which he yapped incessantly and revealed that his intellect did not quite match up to his looks. 

We got home well after 3 a.m. and I immediately put my pajamas on, yawned and said I was going to sleep. In the morning, I woke up at 6 a.m., mostly due to my discomfort at having him in my bed. When he got up and tried to be seductive and charming, I told him I had to work. After all, I have pay for those late-night cab rides somehow! I didn't say that of course though I wish I did. He left soon after. 

Something's Fishy

Thor, a guy I met when I was out with a friend one night, was 45 minutes late picking me up. He drives us to a Japanese restaurant and lets me know that he has never tried sushi.  He asks the waitress why sake doesn’t taste like wine and if Geisha stomp on rice to make it. “I think I’m going to get this California Roll,” he says. “Now, what about this avocado fish? What’s that like.” I explained that avocado was actually a fruit. Dinner arrives and he eats with his hands because “this chop stick thing blows my mind.” He talks about his take on religion, the book he has just read that is a “cross between Dungeons and Dragons and the Bible,” how his mother is going to love me and then about how attractive and tall our children will be. He reaches up to get his Budweiser from the table. His elbow hits the underside of the table flipping it over. Sushi, soy sauce, beer and red wine take flight in the direction of my white pants.

Finally, the bill comes. He opens it, closes it … and hands it to me. Then says, “So, ah, what are you throwing in?” Stupidly, I reach in my clutch and put down the entire contents of my wallet (forgetting to save cab fare so I don’t have to accept a ride home). He drops me off at home and asks if I am busy over the weekend. “Yes Thor, I am busy,” I say. He asks, “What about next week?” I said I was busy and then going out of town and then simply just not interested. “This evening did not go very well,” I explained. He said that he had a great time. Then he asks, “What about your friend? Do you think I could call her?”

Check It

I met this guy through a friend at a Christmas party and we had a successful first date full of laughter, good food and chemistry. When he called for a second date he explained that it was also his birthday. I felt a little awkward about spending that special day with him since we just met, but he said birthdays weren’t a huge deal for him and he’d rather spend it with me than doing something with friends or family. He picked me up and took me to a fancy restaurant that I had read about. I bought him a miniature chocolate cake as a surprise since he was taking me somewhere so nice. 

When we got there he ordered a pricey bottle of red wine and filet mignon. We had a great meal and some romantic kisses, but when the check came he just sat there. I went to the ladies room thinking that there was no way he expected me to pick up the check. When I returned the check was still sitting on the wood table just staring at me. He must have known I was irritated because he said he didn’t have enough cash or a credit card assuming it was my treat. Rather than saying something I paid the $210 bill in a state of shock. I was so disgusted I knew I was never going to talk to him again and I didn’t. Every time I drive by that restaurant I kick myself for picking up that tab.