After telling you about my ridiculously wonderful night, I feel it’s only fair to tell you about my worst date ever. There were a lot of signs leading up to the date that I should not go, but I figure every one deserves a chance.
Tony and I had been exchanging texts for about a week and a half when we decided to meet up. He was 34, from California, an athlete and good at witty banter. He asked for my neighboorhood and said he would pick a wine bar. We decided to get together on a Sunday and I let him handle the details.
The first red flag came the day before. While confirming the location and time, he sent me a string of completely incoherent texts.
It was a Saturday during football season so I figured he was either drunk watching games or his friends had taken his phone. I decided to quit responding to him and wait until Sunday to see if he texted me. After all, if I didn’t show up, I wouldn’t be standing him up since I didn’t know where I was supposed to be.
On Sunday morning, he sent me a string of messages apologizing for the “but dials” (red flag number two if you don’t understand basic sayings).
But it was my favorite restaurant and he seemed like an overall sweet guy, so I agreed to meet him.
And then my day fell apart. After an awkward family brunch and a string of texts to wish Alex a happy birthday (more on him later), I was really not wanting to go. I took a nap, got ready and decided that if it sucked, I could always leave. Little did I know…
I got to the bar 5 minutes late because I hate to be the first person to arrive for a date. He wasn’t there but I confirmed the reservation at the front. After another 5 minutes, I texted him that I was waiting by the bar. 15 minutes after 6, he calls me, explains that there are two wine bars with similar names and that he was at the other one and he would text me the address. Luckily it was next door, but I don’t think Uva and Vella are similar names, so his text with massive spelling errors: “1480 vella. If I havent failed entererilly, please join me ;)” and going to the wrong restaurant were red flags #3 and #4. What in the world is “entererilly”?
Red flag #5 happened when I walked into the new restaurant. There were two men sitting by themselves, one facing the door, one with his back turned. I walked up to the one who was facing the door, but it wasn’t Tony. I looked at the guy with his back to the door (seriously who doesn’t face the door to greet a date?) and saw that he had a cup of coffee and a whiskey glass. Who drinks coffee at 6:15? Surely there’s no way this guy would show up drunk to a first date on a Sunday…but my suspicions were confirmed as soon as I sat down. Homeboy was slurring his words and asking me questions that we had already talked about via text.
After stumbling through how we both ended up in NYC and me drinking wine very quickly, he said he wanted to apologize for the weirdness but that he was super competitive. What in the world was he talking about? It’s a fucking first date and we’re getting to know each other; there is no reason to be competitive.
Then he decides to go into a rant about how he doesn’t understand how God would allow genocide or for people to be mentally or physically handicapped (still trying to figure out how those two things are related, but I digress). I mentioned something about free will and he said “how does free will come into play when a couple gives birth to someone with cerebral palsy? They didn’t choose that.” I had no answer for him but mumbled something about how my mentally handicapped uncle has been an incredible blessing of love and light to my family.
He excused himself to go to the bathroom and I seriously considered bolting. I looked at my phone; it was 6:40. How had it only been 20 minutes!?
When he came back, he asked if I wanted to order dinner and it took everything in me to not burst into laughter. How in the world did he think this was going well?
Me: No, I think I’m actually going to leave.
Tony: Can I asked why?
Me: I can’t believe that you are absolutely hammered on our first date.
Tony: I was so nervous to meet you. I was drinking with my buddies watching football and then I got here early and had a few more drinks. I’m so sorry. If you can find it in your heart of hearts to forgive me, I promise to be sober on our next date.
Me: The fact that you even had to say that is an answer within itself. I wish you the best, but I will not be seeing you again.
With that, I got up, grabbed my coat and walked out. As I walked back to my apartment, I couldn’t help but laugh at loud because
I stopped by the liquor store and picked up two bottles of wine. I returned home at 6:50…less than an hour after I left. Josie, my other roommate, and I laughed out as I told her the story, while we opened the wine.
There was no way Tony would reach out again…but then my phone rang. Twice. Wow this dude really cannot take a hint. Then the incoherent text messages picked back up.
Yes Tony, yes you did. Also, how drunk do you have to be to to actually forget the horrible date where you mentioned GENOCIDE? Or is that a topic of every day conversation for you Tony?
Alas, Tony texted me the next day and I had to block his number. I’m still waiting for Ashton Kutcher to show up and tell me that the whole thing was a joke.