Like our good friend Indiana Jones, most of us either have or will experience at least one bad date.
Luckily for us, they’re not usually life threatening. Or heck, maybe John Rhys-Davies was there to keep you from committing to your bad date. Whatever works for you.
Sorry. I just REALLY wanted to make the Raiders reference.
Anyway, the good news about bad dates is that once you’ve finally managed to run away you at least have a good story to share.
This is mine. Just be warned, it’s long.
When I was in college I worked as a pianist for one of the local churches. I played for the “contemporary” worship service on Sundays and accompanied the choir. The rest of the worship band members were volunteers, and our drummer was especially spotty in terms of attendance. Translation: I worked there for at least six months before I even met him.
Anyway, after a few weeks of coexisting, I was playing the prelude (Clair de lune if you want to know) and he sort of looked at me strangely and said “Are you married?”
Sorry, what?
- Look for a wedding ring before asking that question
- Don’t talk to people when they’re trying to play the piano, especially Clair de lune – that piece of music is sacred
- We’ve never spoken before and that’s your opener?
After a few seconds of awkward silence, I cleared up the confusion by saying “What? No, I’m barely twenty-two!” (Side note: never use your age as an excuse. I know that now). Mr. Smooth then responded “Oh! Huh, I definitely thought you were like thirty or something.”
Men, let’s just all agree that if you want to a girl to like you, you shouldn’t tell her she looks like she’s thirty when she’s just told you she’s actually twenty-two.
I figured that was the end of the weirdness, but I was wrong. A few hours later I got a text from an unknown number. It was my new friend introducing himself, because apparently he’d gotten my number from somewhere instead of asking me for it face to face.
Men, let’s all agree that if you want a girl to like you, you should just ask her for her number instead of creepily finding it somewhere.
At this point, I really should have just crushed his soul and been done with it. But we worked together and I didn’t want it to be weird, and I kept telling myself that maybe he was just nervous and not actually terrible at social interaction.
After a few weeks of awkward texting, where I consciously waited hours before responding, or “forgot” to text back (I know, I should have just been straightforward), he finally asked if he could take me to dinner. Over text.
Again, I should have crushed his soul right then. But I didn’t like confrontation. I was still (like an idiot) hoping that maybe I’d be surprised. I also have a serious problem with saying no to free dinner. (Side note: don’t ask people on dates over text. Look at them in their face and ask. Or call them.)
Fast forward like a week, it was Wednesday, the big night, and I was super pissed that I had said I’d go. Like, legitimately angry to be going on a date. I had a life! Homework! Stuff to do!
I decided I was going to take a nap, in protest of my poor life choices. Like “I’m not even going to try to look nice because I’m mad” type thing.
I get a call about 15-20 minutes before Mr. Smooth was supposed to pick me up. It was him. He was early. Super early. So early that his call woke me up. Again, there were like a million signs that this was all going to end poorly. After he drove around the block long enough for me to get ready, I hop in the car to find that he has no place in mind for us to go. Nothing, nada. Which means we drove around my neighborhood for like 15 minutes trying to find somewhere to eat.
We finally land on Cosi (yay sandwiches?), which was fine as far as free food goes I guess. Then he spends the meal doing two things: assuming that we would be going on a second date, and complaining about all the people that we worked with that he didn’t like.
Oh, and telling me how terrible and joyless life after college is. So three things I guess. One of my favorite lines: “On our second date we should go see Anchorman 2!”
No. No we should not.
Fortunately, it was a weeknight, which meant I could pull the “hey, I really need to get some homework done” trick. Ah, homework. What a lifesaver.
As I got out of the car, I decided that the kindest thing to do would be to put him out of his misery (finally). Yes, I KNOW I should have done it way sooner. I explained as gently as I could that there would not be a second date, and he drove away into the darkness.
But that was not the end. A few minutes later, I received a text from Mr. Smooth. It said something close to this: “Had a great time tonight, you’re pretty hot, it’s too bad you don’t want anything ;)”
…Maybe he wasn’t trying to be creepy. Maybe.
He texted me again three weeks later. When I ignored him he (mercifully) gave up.
God was definitely looking out for me, because I worked at the church for almost a year afterwards and I never saw him again.
Poor Mr. Smooth. I hope he found somebody to go with him to see Anchorman 2.
I Have Bunk Beds 