A First Date From Hell – Adventures In Online Dating
Have you ever been on a bad date? How about a date from hell? You know, the one which you don’t know how it’s going to turn out, and in the end it turns out the worst it could possibly be?
We’ve all had those. Here is a true story of a date that went sour from one single woman who graciously agreed to post her dating story on my blog. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!
As I teetered down the street in my adorable (read blister-threatening) heels toward the jazz club, I did so armed only with the knowledge my date would be the tall, bald one with glasses. We had met on a free online dating site, and, after a exchanging a few pleasantries, had decided to take our adventure offline. I had chosen the location of our meeting. It was a neighborhood bar I had been known to frequent regularly at happy hour. I figured if things went badly, at least I could finagle a free drink out of the friendly bartender. The bartender was a buddy of mine (or at least a Facebook friend), and I felt comforted knowing my date would be chaperoned.
As I neared the club, I spotted a guy across the street on his cell phone. He was certainly tall. He was bald. He was wearing glasses. I gave him a nonchalant glance and was immediately horrified. He was wearing black socks and white gym shoes. Now, I’m no snob, and I don’t tend to judge too harshly at first sight, but there are some fashion rules that should never be broken. I felt my stomach drop with first-date dread. “Please don’t let that be him,” I pleaded with the universe. I had seen my potential date’s picture on his online profile. But, let’s face it, like so many other things online, one is free to put their best foot forward, even if it includes taking advantage of PhotoShop. But, I was determined to remain positive. I kept walking.
When I arrived outside the bar, the bad-socks guy was nowhere to be seen. Ironically, the bouncer was bald, tall, and wearing glasses, but he showed no signs of recognition when I approached. I was relieved to have arrived before my date. I yearned for a cigarette to calm my nerves, but my online profile identified me as a non-smoker, and I had forgotten to bring gum. Sigh.
He was late. As my mind wandered, it went to the place it had gone every day for the past three months. My mind was with Carie. Carie was my best friend and go-to girl. She was the one who had looked my ex-boyfriend up and down with great skepticism before warning me to “be careful with this one!” I hated admitting she was right. But then, she was always right about such things. Carie had been my idol since the seventh grade. She came from the city to our small suburb with a fancy haircut and tales of riding scooters and hanging out at nightclubs with her friends. Years later I would learn she had ridden a scooter once and only hung out at juice bars with a 9 p.m. curfew. But as far as I was concerned, she was a true rebel. Twenty-five years of friendship, and she never lowered in my esteem. She was a true friend and, always, a little bit of a rock-star in my eyes.
Carie was diagnosed with Leukemia shortly after her thirty-ninth birthday. Two months later, she was gone. I was still in shock. I’d gotten in the habit of talking to her, calling her close to me, imagining her responses, and wishing beyond wish I would hear her voice again. That night was no different. Instead of retouching my lipstick, I was pleading silently with Carie to make this date a good one. Did she have that kind of pull with the universe? I hoped so.
Ryan, my date, arrived and caught me off-guard in the middle of my silent chat with Carie. He was, in fact, bald, tall, and wearing glasses. I dared not look down at his footwear. We exchanged an awkward hug and headed to the door of the club. He lost points immediately when he did not make even the slightest move to pay my cover. I’m a feminist, but I still believe in silly first-date etiquette. In other words, the guy should pay.
We sat at the bar waiting for the jazz band to start. The bartender took our drink order, and Ryan stated gallantly, “I’ll get this round.” Again. Points lost. The unstated message: I was responsible for the next round. We moved to a booth and chatted quietly in the candlelight. When the band started, the bouncer made his rounds. Apparently I was talking too loudly because he admonished me to “keep it down.” It would not be easy to have much of a conversation. The whispering between us was awkward. It was far too intimate for a first date to be whispering into each other’s ears, so we headed down the street to another bar.
The bar was quiet and had a great beer selection. It turned out Ryan was somewhat of a beer nut. He was into dark beers and insisted I was drinking mine too fast and should savor the flavor. Note to self: try not to look like an alcoholic on the first date. I ignored him. I needed to loosen up if the conversation were to flow. We had managed to stay on safe topics: music, movies, books, music, music, and more music. He liked music. Inevitably, however, we ran out of things to say. So, I did what I always do in such situations, I talked. I talked about anything and everything. I told stories. Many of my stories happened to involve Carie. That, of course, brought the topic of death elegantly to the fore. I realized, after mentioning her name countless times, I’d have to broach the subject of her untimely death. I did so cautiously and apologetically. He asked if we could change the subject. I laughed. I actually laughed. I should have smacked him. Looking back, I understand why I laughed. But, I don’t forgive myself for it. Carie would have forgiven me.
At the end of the night, I managed to dodge a kiss, and escape quickly to the solace of my car. Ryan and I left things open. Maybe we would see each other again. I felt dishonest because I had already made my decision. I had written him off. I drove off with a wave. I wanted to cry. It wasn’t because the date was so horrible or because it wasn’t a love match. It was simply because I couldn’t go home and spill all the details to Carie. I couldn’t make her laugh hysterically with another dating adventure or get her much-needed perspective. All I could do was go home and stare at my lovely, red-headed friend in the picture on my desk. Before going to bed that night, relieved the date was at an end, I played her favorite song and thanked her. Carie would always be my ultimate dating barometer. If he was a keeper, she would know.
Have YOU even had a very bad date? I’d love to hear it! Please, share your date from hell experience in the comment section down below!
And if you want to know how to have more GOOD dates, and how to find THE ONE, Read This Page>>>