I’m baaaaaaaaack!

I was forced to blow the dust off of my blog from a recent date that was SO awful, I couldn’t not write about it.  It was so bad, in fact, that I willingly left some wine in my glass, just to get the hell out of there.  THAT’s bad, I never like to leave a soldier behind.

We met online, which seems be the most common, yet exasperating, place to meet people these days.  His profile says he was 38, but in our initial texts once we agreed to set up a date, he confessed that he was in fact 33.  Interesting.  Maybe he made a typo?  Curious, I asked him how that happens, and he freely admitted that it was an intentional ploy to meet older women.  “Older women”.  Awesome.  I’m “older women” now.  *sigh*.  Aaaaaanyway, at least he was honest about his ploy.  Honest, you know, about lying.

I suggested we meet and go for a walk at the beach, sounds nice right? His initial response was “Well, but not on the actual sand though, right”. Uh, sure, I guess not. Seawall it is then.

On the days leading up to the date, we texted back and forth a bit, and talked on the phone once.  The texts and conversation were pretty much standard garden variety – what kind of music do you like, do you have siblings, what do you do for fun, yada, yada, yada.

The morning of the date arrived, and he texted me mid morning to say good morning, and the usual “looking forward to it” script.  That was pretty much the end of the “normal” interaction.

The weather outside was pretty crappy and raining, so I suggest that we meet at the English Bay Cactus Club for a drink.  Rain or not, it’s still a gorgeous view.  The text response to that suggestion was “Anywhere more inland?”  *insert record scratch sound here*  Pardon?

Me: “But inland doesn’t have a view.”

Him: “I can’t find free parking anywhere there.”

Keep in mind at this time, it’s 10:30 am.  We’re meeting at 2.

I let him know that there’s always parking, you just have to look.

“Alright.”

Wow, great.  Okay.  I also suggest to him that I’d like to consider myself worth a 5-10 minute drive around to look for parking.  His response to that was “lol”.  Rly?

Besides, I live in the West End – anybody I’m going to date is will have to learn to park in my hood on occasion eventually.  Fighting every part of my being wanting to bail at this point, I soldier on.

Just before 2pm, aka date’o’clock, he texts and says he’s going to be 10 minutes late.  FFS.  On the plus side, at least he gave me a heads up.  Silver lining.

I get to the restaurant and grab a seat by the big beachfront windows, and order myself a big glass of wine while I wait.  10 minutes go by.  20 minutes go by.  *jaw clenched sigh*

Ah – a text! “I found parking”.  Congratulations, well done you.

He finally comes in, and walks over to the table, so I get up and give him the obligatory hug and a lighthearted “You made it!”

Rather than sit, he stands beside his chair and just leans on the table, “So whatchoo up to?”  Odd.

“Uhh, well, not much, just having my wine waiting for you”.  He slowly sits, I guess he finds this answer acceptable.  He keeps his jacket on though, arms folded, face kinda scrunched like he smells a bad fart.  I recall one of his profile pics was of him smiling, so I know for a fact he has teeth.  No further talking at this point, just a brief awkward silence as he sits there.

A few minutes later, Waitress comes over and asks if she can get him started with a drink, to which he replies, somewhat curtly, (as well as mumbly, like he’s got a mouth full of marbles) “Haven’t looked at the drink list.”  She moves the drink list 1″ closer to him so that it’s now on the table directly under his face, and says she’ll give him a minute.  Her and I flash each other a knowing look.  I am already getting spidey senses telling me to leave, but again, I soldier on.

I try to make some light hearted conversation “What did you get up to last night”, “Any fun plans for the rest of the weekend”, etc.  All of which receive a one or two word answer, sans smile, and then silence and a blank stare.  Good god man, work with me here.  Not only that, but every time I ask him something he says “Huh?”. I don’t recall his profile mentioning a hearing impairment.

Waitress comes by again. Again marble-mouth indicates he’s not yet decided.  He hates wine, that’s what I know so far though in his perusal of the drink list.  Waitress and I exchange that look again, only this time I see pity in her eyes as she looks at me.  She says for him to flag her down when he’s ready.  Off she toodles.  I’m jealous of her – she isn’t stuck here with Captain Stank Face.

After more attempts from me at conversation and one-worded answers, he flags her over.  He orders two pints of beer.  TWO. At once. FML

From there, it goes like this.  Spoiler alert, it gets no better.

Him: Who chose to sit here {at the table by the window} – you or the hostess?

Me: “I did.”

Him: “Why? ”

Me: [Internally to self – wtf?] “Well, it’s at the window with a great view of the ocean.”

Him: “Hmmph. The view is just as fine as the back corner [points, for impact]. And what’s so great about the view anyway? All I see are ships.”

I have no answer for this – but I look longingly at the waitress to come over to tell me that the kitchen is on fire, and we all have to leave. There is no fire.

Me: “Well, this is off to a great start, hey?”

Him: “Huh?”

Me: “Never mind”  [I turn and stare at the ocean, hoping for it come and sweep me away]

I take a few sips of wine, and put the rest of the wine from the mini carafe into my glass.  This benign action kicks off his next diatribe.

Him: “What is that?”

Me: “It’s the rest of my wine.”

Him: “Why is it in that little carafe?”

Me: *shrugs* “It’s just how it’s done.”

Him: “That’s stupid.  It doesn’t make sense. You could fit all 9oz in that glass.”

Still no kitchen fire to make my escape.  I decide to switch it up a bit.

Me: [speaking a bit louder so he can hear me] “So, why don’t you tell me what you DO like then.”

Him: “You don’t have to shout. And what do you mean?”

Me: “Uh, well, so far I know about all things you hate, how about saying something positive.”

Him: “I’m just being honest, there are things I don’t like.  I’m sure there are things you don’t like too.”

Me: “Yes, that is true.  But I usually refrain from spewing them all at once on a first date.  Let me ask you, do you think this date is going well?”

Him: “Yes, I think so, why?”

Me: “Really, you do? You think this is going well. I do not.  In fact, I am not having a nice time.  At all.  Everything you’ve said so far is super negative, when you even say anything more than one word.”

Him: “What do you mean? What’s wrong? I thought we were just being quiet.”

Me: “Seriously? Ya, so, I’m going to get my bill and go.”

Him: “What? Why? What’s wrong?”

Me: “For real?”

Him: “Well, at least you could wait until I’m finished drinking my beers [BEERS – plural]. I don’t want to sit here and drink alone.”

Me: “Oh? Well, I sat here for 20 minutes with my glass of wine while I waited for you.”

Him: “I couldn’t find parking.”

Me: “Good day”

*blocks his number*

I should also mention that he’s a nursing student.  Good luck with that bed-side manner.

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