• Samantha Stevens

Worst Date in A While

That’s it! I’ve had enough! No more dating. Ever!


So I met this guy online. Where else? We’d texted daily for more than a month. We had a few phone conversations. He seemed cool-ish. Semi-smart. Vaguely amusing. Used interesting emoji. Okay, so he lives about a hundred miles from me and has been too busy with work to make the drive to where I live. I was tired of just being a pen pal so I decided to offer the grand gesture: I’d drive out to his neck of the woods for a dinner date at an Italian restaurant I know in that area. Great. It was all settled.


I reserved an Airbnb place (at $118.46 after all fees: cleaning, service, and occupancy tax), because I wouldn’t want to drive all the way back at night and after a couple glasses of vino.


I gassed up the car and two hours later, at the agreed upon time, I arrived at the place we’d selected. I’m pretty darn punctual and appreciate that in others.


He wasn’t there.


C’mon man, you live in this city. I drove for a couple and was still on time.


So, I sidled up to the bar and ordered a glass of Cabernet. Ten minutes later I sent him a text message. “On my way” was the reply. Fine. The place was filled with a good-looking young-ish crowd and the bartenders were affable. I was dressed in casual business attire and knew that I looked pretty good. My hair had recently been styled and I felt totally comfortable.


Then my “date” walked in. I instantly recognized him his profile picture. In that instant I knew I had made a big mistake.Dressed in jeans (that’s fine) and a casual button-down shirt (also fine), he wore a baseball cap that was turned backward, and a sweater tied around his waist. NOT FINE! EITHER, AND BOTH!


A quick hug then he said he had to pee. Okay. Yeah. Find the restroom. I’ll get you a drink. What do you want? A Pinot Grigio. Great. The bar didn’t stock Pinot Grigio. Guy returns about 10 minutes later (Really, MAN? It took you that long to pee-pee?) and when he learned he couldn’t get the wine he wanted he asked for an Espresso Martini. I’m cool with buying a guy a drink from time to time. No problem. Did the deed and ordered the martini.

We stood at the bar chatting. Actually, it was more of an interview on my part. “Your job sounds interesting” (it didn’t, he’s in tech support). “You live with your lesbian sister and her wife. You must be very close.” (With sister yes. With sister’s wife, not so much.) “Another drink, please?” Already? Okay (I paid for that one too. And a third one!).


A lot of yada yada then, mercifully, it was time for dinner. By this time the guy is definitely drunk. Again with the bathroom break while I perused the menu. Long, boring story short(er), he starts drinking that Pinot Grigio (two) that he couldn’t get in the Happy Hour bar and before you know it he (twice) puts his elbow in his freakin’ Osso Buco. All the while telling me how much he adores me, and I’m so much more than he expected. Oh, really? Well, isn’t that sweet of you.


Dinner is over and there’s no way I’m letting this jerk get behind the wheel of his car. I wasn’t worried about him getting killed (I was ready to do the deed for him), or busted with a DUI, I was concerned that he’d plow through people. So I ordered an Uber and within minutes stuffed him into the back seat of the car. (Thank god for Uber!)

I didn’t even want to stay in town so I went back to the Airbnb, collected my overnight things, and headed back to my own home. Two and a half hours later I was in my jammies and making a promise to myself to stop looking for Mr. Wonderful online.


The night was what Oprah would call “a teachable moment.” I’ve definitely learned my lesson. Well, until next month.


Now it’s morning. I got an email from the jerk asking what happened last night. Seems he couldn’t find his car or his cell phone. Ha! Priceless! Funniest thing I’ve heard in a long while!


I also tallied up how much I spent on the disaster. All told, with the accommodations, drinks, dinner, Uber, tips, parking, gas: $331.46!


So yeah, it’s official: I’m an idiot!


P.S. His sister found his phone and sweater in the front yard of their house. He doesn’t remember how he got home. Nor does he recall how he got a burn on his wrist.


Life is a mystery, buddy.

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