When he eventually arrived he explained his lateness saying that he wanted to go home to have something to eat. This was perplexing as we were supposed to meet for dinner. So when the waitress came to take our order he wasn’t hungry. I was so irritated that I ordered a second drink and a sandwich which he sat there and watched me consume while I fumed and he drank tap water. When the check came he actually pointed at it and asked if I wanted him to pay. I was highly perplexed at someone actually asking that rather than either just paying or indicating that we would split the check. However, I was more annoyed than perplexed so I said I did in fact want him to pay. In his mind this must have passed for a great date and he actually wanted to go out again. I said that unfortunately I would be busy washing my hair for the foreseeable future.
Which brings us to the main act, ladies and gentleman – the Worst Date Ever in the History of the World. Unfortunately he would be followed by at least another 8 or 9 weirdos including “D.J. 3-Way”, “The Parking Lot Pisser”, and “The Young Republican With Too Much Saliva” but we will save them for later because this cat was really the be all and end all of dating duds. I knew as soon as I saw him that this was not a match made in heaven. The dating service encourages patrons to dress as they would for a business event or special occasion. Most people were professionals and came directly from work. So I was a little taken aback when Skinny Scott* showed up in acid washed jeans, the whitest Reeboks known to man, and a t-shirt. Do they even make acid washed jeans anymore? I’m assuming that in the late 1980’s Scott* bought a butt-load of them and brings out a new pair every year.
As the waitress seated us and visibly tried not to laugh, I could feel a headache forming across my eyes. I should have immediately ran out of the restaurant screaming but thought I might be judging a book by its cover or doing one of those other clichéd things that you’re not supposed to do. Our waitress took our drink orders and left us with the menus to consider dinner options. I had learned at that point to have at least one drink to take the edge off of my date’s craziness but not too many to impair my judgment to the point where I might actually think one of them was suitable or become to altered to drive far, far away at high speeds.
Innocently I asked Skinny Scott* if he wanted to just have appetizers or if he wanted dinner. “I don’t like food,” Scott* said. Blank stare from me as while I’ve heard of people not liking specific types of food --for example, I hate chick peas in their natural form as I think they look like little asses-- I have never heard of someone not liking food at all. “I don’t like to eat,” he offered as further explanation which actually did explain his skeletal appearance. “I really don’t know what to do with what you’ve just said,” were the actual words that came out of my mouth followed by awkward pauses on both or our parts.
“I mean, I don’t like to eat a lot,” Scott* said, realizing somewhere in the deep recesses of his brain that he sounded like a loon. “Oh, ok,” I said. What I should have said was “I’m sorry, my leg appears to have fallen off and I have to go have it re-attached. What I actually said was “why don’t we split an appetizer pizza as I think that we have to order something to sit at the table?” “OK. Except that I don’t like anchovies or those black things with the holes in the middle,” he offered. “Huh?” I repeated for the fifth time in the first five minutes of our date. I eventually figured out that he meant olives and we managed to settle on the barbecued chicken pizza although he was blown away as he had never heard of anything that “fancy” before.
At this point, staying at the table and continuing the date seemed crazy but like a hideous car wreck that not only can you not look away from, but you know that the more you continue to watch the more likely that you will crash your car as well, I was locked into this date come what may. So we dove right into the pool of insane conversations. It went a little something like this:
Me: “What do you do for a living, Scott?”
Him: “I’m a truck driver.”
Me: “Huh. That sounds interesting. You must like to travel then.”
Him: “No, not really.”
(Pause)
Me: “Oh. Well. What do you like to do?”
Him: “I like to watch tv. And hang out with the dog.”
(Sigh of relief on my part since at least I can be reasonably sure he won’t recommend I have my dog put down so I can go out more.)
Me: “What kind of dog do you have?”
Him: “Golden retriever.”
Me: “Well is it hard being gone all the time? Or do you have a dog walker or board her a lot?”
Him: “Oh, no. I don’t need to board her at all. My folks watch her.”
Me: “That’s great! My parents watch my dog sometimes too when I go away for work and vacation. He loves going to their house because they spoil him rotten. Do your parents spoil your dog?”
Him: “Nope. They see her all the time. I live with my parents so they see my dog every day.”
Me: (gulp of drink) “Oh is that because you’re always traveling for work?”
Him: “No, I just like living with them.”
(Pause.)
(PAUSE.)
(Silence of several minutes goes by as I try to figure out a fake emergency to extricate myself from this situation. I silently contemplate stabbing myself in the thigh with my fork so I can go to the hospital rather than stay here for one more minute. Looking back, this would have been less painful than the actual date.)
Him: “What do you do?”
Me: “Well, I’m a research analyst so I research a lot of different topics and then write up reports on them.”
Him: “Do you have to use a computer?”
Me: (perplexed) “Um, sure.”
Him: “Because I hate computers. Nothing good comes from them. There’s nothing that you can do with a computer that I can’t do with my own brain and a pencil. Plus there’s all that porn out there.”
(Sound of waitress’ muffled laughter as she brought my glass of wine.)
Me: “Well, I really don’t have to research porn so its not really an issue.”
(Silence)
Me: “So, have you been to this restaurant before?” (Now I realize that this was a stupid question for a self-confessed hater of food but I was really at a loss.)
Him: “Nope, never.”
Me: “Oh, I just came here a few months ago with some of my friends from high school.”
Him: “I don’t have any of those.”
Me: “Friends from high school?”
Him: “Friends. (long pause) I don’t have any friends. (Interminably long pause). I don’t really like people. I’m not a people person.”
(Really, really long pause while I contemplate trying to burrow out underneath the booth and run for the hills)
Me: “I really don’t know what to do with what you’ve just said.”
(Pause as busboy fills our water glasses.)
Him: “You know what I really hate about these people?”
Me: “Um. What people? Busboys?”
Him: “They’re all gay. Like I work with these Guatemalans and I’m pretty sure they’re all homosexuals. They’re always hugging each other and slapping each other on the butt.”
Me: “Well, football players slap each other on the butt and you don’t think they’re all gay, do you? (nervous chuckle) Plus I doubt the entire country is homosexual.”
Him: “I don’t know about that. I think they could be. Its like with the Asians.”
Me: (fearfully) “The Asians?”
Him: “Yeah, they’re all a bunch of perverts.”
Me: (incredulously) “The entire continent of Asia ?”
Him: “All’s I know is I saw this show on how in Tokyo
Me: “Let me get this straight. You saw a television show about a vending machine in one neighborhood in one of the more populous cities in the world, and based on this, you think the entire population of the continent of well over 1.5 billion people is perverts?”
(Silence. Pause. Sound of me gulping down my drink).
The rest of the evening is kind of a blur but I did manage to stay a whole extra five minutes. Now, where’s that convent application? *Name has been changed
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