I've told you before that I learned the hard way to take my own vehicle on first dates. It was a lesson I had to learn repeatedly, but the third time (with the Snorter) it finally sunk in.
I'm here to tell you about lesson one. Why this didn't teach me is beyond me to this day. But I'm rather gullible, so I should probably count my blessings that I learned the third time.
If I remember correctly, I was about 20 or 21 when a dear friend who I love dearly to this day decided to set me up on a blind date. She informed me that he was a good friend and that he was completely date-able.
In her defense though, she probably had a few screws loose. I think that's what bonded us...our loose screws complimented each other perfectly. A perfect example of that would be the night we were out partying all night, and at about 6:00 am we were getting ready to call it quits. As we're driving down the road, some perverted old man started making obscene gestures at us, while he followed every turn we made. We knew we didn't want him to know where either of us lived, so we kept driving until we ended up at Sheetz with him in tow. I guess we figured if it was a public location we were safe. We were wrong. He pulled in right next to us, and continued with his disgusting self. I rolled the window down and asked him if he had a problem with lesbians. He just about burst an artery telling me no he didn't but he'd love to watch. She in turn went apeshit. Started screaming at him like a maniac telling him if he thought it was ok to talk to her woman like that she's show him what it means to be ashamed of what was between his legs. By the time she was done with him, I'm relatively certain his penis turned inside out (or outside in??) and is probably still trembling to this day. Ladies, I assure you, there is one less man out there sticking his tongue between his fingers because of her. But I digress.
My dear friend hooked me up with Eric Doe (name changed to protect the guilty...ahhh..who am I kidding, I practiced forgetting his name because I was so mortified by this date). We spoke on the phone a few times and he seemed nice enough. We finally set a date and he was taking me to the Olive Garden for dinner. He pulled up in a car that screams, “I am overcompensating for my small penis” and got out to open the door for me. Because she didn't give me a description of him, I had to go by his word. His word was that he was 5'11 and 190 pounds. He was wrong. Mind you, I was 5'7 and approximately 140 pounds at the time, yet next to him I was an amazon. Giving a little bit because I had heels on, he was lucky if he was 5'7 and was even luckier if he weighed 120 soaking wet. I immediately thought, “how in God's name do I get out of this?!” I could only think to offer him an out. I looked at him and pleaded, “well, this looks like your last chance to back out.” I thought the trembling in my voice would continue the thought with please, please, please. But I was wrong. I learned later he apparently mistook that tremble as anticipation for a night of mind bending sex. Unfortunately.
Unable to come up with anything to get me out of the date, I was forced by sheer lack of a backbone into the car.
To the Olive Garden we drove. We didn't wait long for a table, and the waitress was right there to serve us. Of course, as is normal in the Olive Garden, she had a bottle of wine at the ready and poured us both a sample. I am no wine connoisseur by any means; I know what kind of wine to serve with what food, and what kind of wine I like. Ask me to detect notes and tones and whatever other terms are used in describing wine and I'm lost. He on the other had tasted it and announced, "That ain't no white zinfandel"(for the record it was red wine), started going on and on about wine in such a fashion that I was both impressed and confused. I thought maybe there was hope yet. He understood something I didn't. That he understood white and red wines were very different. That thought did not last long primarily because he ended this long winded wine talk with, “you know, this is like my favorite wine is whatever blah blah brand that comes in the big box.” I was mortified because we had been given red wine and he was talking about a boxed white. I looked at the waitress who I think was wearing the same shade of confusion as was I and said to her, “yeah, I prefer my wine in a keg so I can just lay under the tap.” She got the sarcasm and I think nearly choked on her tongue trying not to laugh. He did not understand the sarcasm I discovered when he looked at me and asked, “they have wine in kegs?” At that point the waitress excused herself, I would imagine to stop herself from peeing her pants in public. I on the other hand was trapped. My escape came in the form of burying myself in the menu. I opted for chicken marsala. He ordered enough food to feed an army.
Once the food was ordered and my comfort level had nearly hit rock bottom, he made an attempt at conversation. Sadly, conversation is not a good word for what happened as he immediately started quoting every sex line from Austin Powers. Honestly, once you realize a guy has lied to you drastically about his appearance, and believes boxed wine to be the best out there, you sort of figure it can't get much worse. Oh, but it can. He can start quoting Austin Powers. Loudly. For others to hear. Leaving one to think, I could have faked death. “DO YOU WANNA SHAG, BABY” or death? Death, please.
As dinner is served and Austin goes away, I think to myself surely the worst has passed.
I will tell you now, never EVER think that. Ever.
Once our plates were in place, and his mountain of food was falling off of the table, he decided to eat mine instead. Before I had even had a bite, he was forking my mushrooms and announced, “you know mushrooms are an aphrodisiac, (quote Austin) Yeah, Baby” and I lost my appetite. As I pushed food around my plate, he found “yeah, baby” to be the perfect segway to start whining at length about his ex. In fact, the remainder of the dinner conversation was focused on his ex. I excused myself at one point to go to the bathroom and discovered that he must have been the only person in the restaurant who didn't pick up on my discomfort. Half of the couple at the table next to us had followed me back to ask me if I would like a ride out of there. Stupidly, I did not take them up on the offer, but did thank them kindly and went back to what had become self imposed punishment. The conversation about his ex continued, and I finally asked him “why don't you call her?” I did not add please, please, please, but maybe he picked up on it that time because when our waitress came to offer us dessert he declined without consulting me, asked for the check, and got us to the car in a heartbeat, whereupon he drove across the parking lot to the payphone and called his ex. He was nice enough to make sure I was ok with it as he was getting out of the car and digging change out of his pocket. I assured him I was and as soon as his back was turned, I made my escape. I dodged and darted my way across the parking lot, hiding behind and below as many vehicles as possible until I had escaped his view and walked home through the woods. In three inch heels.
I went to bed that night swearing I would never again go on a blind date. (I lied to myself)
I did fall asleep rather early, but my phone started ringing around 2:30am and I was dumb enough to wake up and answer it thinking that it was possibly my friend calling to see how things went. It wasn't. It was the last person I expected to hear from. It was him. He was very drunk and after lamenting about his ex standing him up he wanted to know if I wanted to come over so “we could get to know each other better”. I told him I didn't think he was done knowing his ex and hung up.
I think he called a few times after that, but if you can believe it, I played dead every time his number popped up.
Shocking, I know. How could I have let a catch like that slip through my fingers?!?!
Moral of the story: If perfect strangers realize you are having such a terrible date that they offer you a ride home, take it. I assure you, even if they plan on drugging you and making you their sex slave, I think that would be less brutal that sitting through an evening with the likes of him.
